That's What Friends Are For
by gammara
Summary: The title is deceptive! Part 7 Archer and T'Pol return to Betazed.
1. Chapter 1

**That's What Friends Are For**

A/N: T'hy'la here means friend (as in life-long friend). This story is based on a discussion at the Logical Choice forum.

Her hand trembled, shaking, with a determination of its own and sweat pooled around her neck, back, shoulders, hairline and underarms. As she closed her eyes the only thoughts that would come to her were of Vulcan's volcanoes – the magma scorching the surface of the planet in one fiery eruption after another.

_Meditation will not come_, she thought.

It had not come yesterday or the day before either.

Darker thoughts, fantasies, willed themselves to her brain. Steamy ideas about being taken – maybe even forcefully so – by a lover, to feel his sweat cover her body and his lips ravage hers. There was a need so deep, a thirst, that it could not be quenched or satisfied. And for a moment she thought she would die of it – her lips parched and her body moist, slick with perspiration.

Weak, a pant huffed from her lips.

_I am an inferno._

A chime rang out and her eyes barely focused on the door in front of her. Someone wanted entry. Trying to muster up a scintilla of logic and control – something she'd need to converse with her shipmates, she heard a chime again and a voice speak through the door.

"T'Pol?"

It was a man, her captain. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

He said, "Phlox told me your symptoms."

During her most logical hours, the ones leading up to this morning, she'd considered several options, including contacting a Vulcan ship or going home. But her planet was two days away and the nearest Vulcan ship, the Savan, was three days even at warp five. Death would blanket her before she could make either in time.

Other options had sprung to her mind.

She could go to a lover she had once taken, Trip. And yet even in her hazy mind, with the fever welling inside her, she knew it _that _would be wrong. The two had created a loose friendship after Elizabeth died; to ask him for his help now would be unconscionable. Undoubtedly he'd become confused and distraught again. She could not ask Trip, and would perish before hurting him again.

There were two friends left who she trusted with this unsavory task, two men who may understand the circumstances: her doctor and captain. And thinking of one of them made her _burn_.

"Open the door," Jonathan said.

"I should not," she barely whispered.

"Then I'm entering my code."

T'Pol looked behind her, almost afraid of what her captain, her friend, would think of her abode. In frustration and bedlam, she'd nearly crushed her monitor, ripped at the sheets of her bunk, and knocked over her chair, nearly shattering it. The second she took a step to at least right the furniture, as if it would make her cabin habitable, the door swished open.

Instead of dressed in his uniform, he wore gray sweats, almost as if he'd anticipated what she'd be asking for. He stepped in, as if dipping his toe into a cold pool of water to test the temperature.

"Leave me," she said. It was a growl.

Staying close to the opposite wall, he entered, hoisting a duffle bag higher on his shoulder, and closed the door behind him.

"Phlox told me what the symptoms are. You're in Pon Farr."

He said the word like a Vulcan might, something that even in her crazed state, surprised her. More than that, the words he spoke with soothing, as if trying to coax a selhat away from its meal.

"You should not know about these things."

"Surak left a few memories behind." Tentatively, he took a step toward her. "I know what you need."

"Get out!"

Putting his duffle bag down to his side, he spoke softly. "On Vulcan during Pon Farr, your species agrees to provide assistance to each other."

She quieted. The urge to shove him out the door and beg him to run for his life was being supplanted by the one that wanted to push him to the bed and rip at his clothing.

"T'hy'la, I can't allow you to die," he said. Holding up two fingers, his index and middle, into the air, he waited for a response.

"I tried contacting a Vulcan." The sound was raspy.

"I know," he whispered.

"I cannot turn to Trip."

He sighed. "I know that, too."

Biting her lower lip, something she'd seen humans do, she gazed into his eyes. "I may hurt you."

Taking a step forward, timidly, she rubbed her fingers against his.

"I snuck into Sickbay and took some restraints," he said. "We can use them if things become dire."

"Phlox did not tell you my condition?"

"No." Running his fingers along her neck, he reassured her.

"Phlox will know who helped me."

"Well, I'll probably be away from the Bridge for long periods of time." He shrugged. "He's a smart man. He'll probably figure it out, but I doubt he'd tell anyone, if that's a concern to you."

"No."

"Good." He smiled.

Cupping her chin in his hand, he pressed his lips to hers. It was a tender embrace, and his lips connected to his felt like water on her parched mouth. Her body quivered and her hands clutched his shoulders, feeling the cloth that she longed to tear from him. But, before the madness strangled her mind, she spoke quietly and with awe.

"Thank you."

He looked down at her face, brushing away a lock of hair. Compassion covered his features and reflected in his eyes.

"You'd do the same for me."

With that, T'Pol pulled him into her bed.

---

The man could barely lift his head. His body ached and throbbed, and yet the soreness felt good. Marvelous. Exquisite. Muscles in his back, arms and legs had been spent, but he'd achieved a satiety he hadn't experienced in years … decades.

He struggled to fall at her side, when he noticed her intent gaze. It made him smile.

"You feel better?" he asked.

"Yes."

She shivered and with whatever remaining strength he had, he brought her to his body and snuggled the covers around her. Easily and without much cajoling, she cuddled her face onto his chest and he kissed her head.

Letting out a lazy sigh, he stared at the ceiling. A whimsical thought bubbled to the surface, and he bit back a grin.

"What is so amusing?" she asked.

There was a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

"Sorry, I was just thinking …." Fear had smacked itself onto her face as she lifted her head, deeply afraid what she'd done would be a source of embarrassment, so he continued. "I was just thinking how great that was."

Confusion spread across her face.

"I mean, I thought it would just be a frenzy. Something out of control. That was …."

Satisfied with his answer, she placed her cheek back on his chest. "It _was_."

He closed his eyes for a moment and relished the afterglow. Just as he'd almost drifted to sleep, he felt her poke a stinging spot on his clavicle. Looking down, he noticed a bruise, and it had siblings forming all over his chest and arms. He could only imagine what the rest of him looked like.

"You should've used the restraints," she said.

"It's okay."

Smoothing over her hair, hoping to indicate everything would be just fine, he breathed deeply.

"Jonathan?" she asked.

The word seemed almost foreign. Although he hadn't expected her to call him by his title, hearing her speak his first name felt almost more intimate than what they'd just done.

"May I call you that?" she asked.

"Of course."

"My body will call to you many times during the next several days."

"I know."

She pushed herself from his flesh and placed her cheek on the pillow, so he turned to meet her gaze.

"What's wrong?"

"I have learned from Trip that humans often times develop feelings after a physical union. We will engage in one many times over, which may …."

"You're worried about me?" he asked.

"We've been friends a long time. I know you are very selective about your … mating practices and partners."

He gave a slight guffaw. "Well, this is going to sound crude, but humans also have the notion of friends who sleep with each other."

"Oh?"

He hadn't anticipated providing her his sexual history, but thought he might alleviate her concern and address the issue by mentioning Erika.

"I've slept with women who were just friends."

"I see."

"So, you don't need to worry about my feelings."

"I _was _worried. I care about you and know sometimes you suppress your emotions–"

"We seem to have a lot in common there," he said, smiling. "And, I care about you, too."

"Let's not over-complicate things."

Nodding, she agreed. "I am fortunate to have you as my first Pon Farr partner, t'hy'la."

"I'm lucky to have you as mine as well."

The notion caused a twinkle in T'Pol's eyes and without kissing or caressing, the two quietly chatted until they fell asleep.

TBC?


	2. That didn't go as planned

T'Pol creaked open her eyes and watched over at her sleeping partner, wrinkle-less peace spread across his face, as she pondered the quandary she was now in.

He'd saved her life, as he had so many times before and probably would after. That's the relationship they had: she saved his life, he saved hers.

_This_, however, wasn't just about saving risking one's life; it was about sex – the steamy kind … the kind filled with passionate sobs of Pon Farr, a time when passion and sobs were not only allowed, but unpreventable. Sex was a topic humans and Vulcans, something the races had in common, had difficulty discussing.

Vulcans, their rituals related to Pon Farr, were secretive and hidden from anyone who wasn't Vulcan. Their passion was explosive, demanding the logical creatures reduced to the rutting of animals – without reason, letting only their most primitive natures rule them. This emotional façade that overtook them made them hesitant to divulge.

Humans found the topic of procreation, in general, embarrassing despite their heightened sexuality and need to procreate more often. T'Pol once brought up the idea of stopping by Risa so that the humans could release their sexual energy, and yet even Trip – one of the more sexually charged beings on Enterprise - tittered at the subject. And the captain coughed, sputtering out his coffee at the idea.

_Captain? Jonathan, _she corrected.

She would have to start thinking of that name when thinking of him as her lover.

_Jonathan _told her that humans didn't always develop feelings after intimate relations. And she had to take his information at face-value, despite her reservations about its accuracy.

As she traced his face with her eyes lingering over his eyelashes, he gave her a tight-lipped smile – causing deep grooves to suddenly appear – without flinching any other part of his face.

"Hey," he said.

It startled her.

"Good morning," she replied. "How did you--?"

His eyes slowly opened. "I could feel you watching me."

"How?"

"It's hard to explain. Humans … sometimes they're just able to tell."

He must've noticed her dissatisfaction with the explanation, because he continued.

"There's some who believe that mankind has a third eye."

He pointed to the place between his eyebrows and a smidge toward his hairline. The idea sparked her to tilt her head at him.

"It's metaphorical," he said. "Kinda like a sixth sense."

"I didn't realize humans had any telepathic ability."

"Hard to explain."

T'Pol had been careful not to touch his temples, even in her madness and passion, straying from connecting with him telepathically. Her fastidiousness would ensure the two didn't and wouldn't – ever – bond. Although the captain had helped her, and was willing to lend her his body to save her, she'd guessed being attached mentally would be beyond his good will. It also exceeded the bounds of friendship for her as well.

Furrowing his brows, he propped himself up, pressing his cheek against his right hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine … for now."

"Do you know when ….?"

"No. Our forays yesterday seemed to have abated the need."

"Do you have any warning?"

"The effects come on slowly, yes." Blinking, she understood his line of questioning. "You want to know whether you can return to the Bridge?"

"I have been wondering, but--"

"I can contact you when I feel the need."

"Good," he said. Awkwardly, he stared into her eyes and lifted his left hand to brush her cheek. After heaving a small sigh, he skimmed his lips against her temple and got up and into his clothes.

He said, "Make sure to let me know as soon as you feel anything."

"I will."

Inadvertently, she let her eyes meander his body. It was tall, lean and muscular. His shoulders and arms were toned and sculpted, his backside was round and firm and he had powerful thighs and calves.

As he wiggled into his shirt, she thought about the differences between him and other men she'd seen. Unlike Vulcans' hairless bodies or Trip's, he was blanketed in hair from his chest to his feet. Peeking down at them, she noticed, with some bemusement, even they had hair on them; his toes showcased sporadic offshoots.

He must've seen her gaze at him, mostly in wonder, because he commented on it.

"What are you looking at?"

"Your feet."

"It doesn't …," he said. And then he coughed. "It doesn't bother you to see me, does it?"

He meant naked, although he'd conveniently left the word out.

"No. Should it?" she asked.

"No."

Quietly she admitted something to him. "It does, however, remind me I'm in Pon Farr."

That won her a smile, and then it faded. "You're not in it now are --?"

"I will be in Pon Farr for the next few days, but the need is not so dire right now."

"Good. Are you hungry or anything? I can bring you something to eat …?"

"It is difficult for us to eat during this time. In a few days, I should be able to."

"I understand."

"I will contact you later."

He gave a little sigh, as if torn on whether to leave, and then headed out the door.

---

Archer headed to his cabin, it was still early – before most of his crew would be up – where he could make a convenient dash from her room down the corridor to his quarters without being seen. Slipping into the shower, he realized he'd been wearing a grin and had been ever since he'd left her.

When he'd come to her, entering his code and slipping into her room, he'd understood it was a last ditch effort. Last ditch because it was the only thing that would save her life. The minute he'd entered her room, he'd felt the climate controls turned up and noticed sheets ripped from her bed, candles thrown about the room and furniture knocked over and broken. He'd known, thanks to the knowledge left by Surak, she was in dire straights and needed help that only sex could bring.

Sex.

He wasn't such a prude that he couldn't offer that to a friend; Erika had given him the same assistance when she sensed he needed confidence and diversion. And although he'd made a commitment to himself years ago to refrain from getting involved with anyone on Enterprise, he figured he could wave it this time … to save her life.

_Things will go back to the way they were when Pon Farr is over._

Putting on a fresh uniform, he felt lighter in his shoes than he had in some time.

_Maybe I feel lighter because the gravity is back to normal. _In addition to trying to mimic Vulcan's heat, T'Pol's room had increased gravity.

Shrugging it off, he made his way through corridors, into the Mess Hall and slipped into his private dining room. Trip was already there plowing through pancakes when he entered and he noticed his breakfast had already been served and was growing cold.

It meant he was late.

"What the hell happened to you?" Trip asked.

"Huh?" Archer asked.

For a second, Archer felt at his throat – a place covered in his polyester-blend fabric – hiding a bruise.

Trip said, "You look like the cat who ate the canary."

Archer didn't realize he was smiling, and wiped it off his face immediately. "Just a good night's sleep."

"Must've been a hell of a dream," Trip said.

"Yeah." A small laugh escaped before he could squelch it, and then he tucked into his meal – eggs with salsa.

Trip said, "I'm surprised T'Pol's not here. She's usually here like clockwork."

"Oh, ah, Dr. Phlox indicated she's ill and that she'd need about a week to recover." His head barely halted its forage to invite some scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"Maybe I should go see her?"

"I don't know. I talked to her earlier this morning and she indicated she preferred to be left alone."

"Huh." The engineer shook his head. "Well, that's too bad. Doc say what it is?"

"Flu or something."

Trip nodded and then gave a chuckle. "You know, in all the time we've been aboard Enterprise, I can count on one hand the number of times T'Pol has been sick."

The blonde pointed with his fork, continuing his stroll down memory lane.

"And even two of those times, she insisted on working. Doc had to come to the Bridge that one time to send her back to her room."

Jon gave a purring laugh. "I remember."

"She must be knocked on her ass if she hasn't tried to get to work."

"Must be."

"Maybe I'll comm her later to--"

Archer's fork clanked against his plate as he threw his friend a frown. "Leave her alone for the next few days. That's what she's asked and I'd like us to abide by her wishes. In fact, let's consider it an order."

"All right, Cap'n."

"Thanks." He hesitated and then added quietly a few words. "Sorry, it's just…"

"I understand." The tone was a bit snotty, and the engineer wiped the crumbs from his mouth and then stood, leaving a half-empty plate.

"I'm sorry, Trip, it's just … she asked for some privacy."

"No, I get it, sir."

"And, I figure it's the least we can do."

"Well, when you next speak to her, let her know I'm thinking about her and hope she gets better soon."

"It's not about you, Trip, if you're concerned about that."

"Uh, huh. See ya later."

Archer nodded and the engineer left.

_Well, that didn't go as planned. _

---

T'Pol lazed in bed, something she had never done before. Her body felt weary, preventing her from rushing into shower. Placing a hand on the spot where he lay, she thought about last night's encounter: how she'd clawed and clutched at him, verbally begging for release. She would've been humiliated, even remembering it, had he not groaned in her ear as if her pleas aroused him.

An eyebrow peaked at the thought.

A haze began to weave over her eyes and cloud her brain, and she recognized it had been there for a few hours as her body began to perspire.

She would need the captain's help most likely within the next two hours.

The comm beeped, disturbing her thoughts.

When she punched the button, she heard Phlox's frantic voice on the other end.

"This is Dr. Phlox. I've wrestled with your situation all night, and I've decided to help you."

"That's unnecessary."

"I think your _commitment _to perish is absurd. Somehow I'd assumed you'd ask Mr. Tucker to assist you by now, but perhaps given your history--"

"I mean: my problem has been avoided."

Stunned silence.

She said, "My prognosis has improved."

"That's impossible."

She was quiet.

"Unless …. You already talked with him?" Phlox asked.

"It's being taken care of."

He blew out a relieved breath, and then spoke nervously. "Well, I'm glad. Although Denobulan doctors vow to hold a patient's confidentiality, I was considering breaking it and telling one of your friends. Considering you may want a monogamous relationship with someone for a --"

"Thank you for your offer."

"Yes, well …." Coughing, as if trying to dismiss sentiment, he concluded the discussion as if to run from it. "I'd like to see you in a few days to make sure you're okay."

"Of course."

"Phlox out."

She almost smiled at the comm, and her friend's offer, which meant her emotions were more out of control than she realized and meant she should warn Archer _now_.

"T'Pol to Archer," she said.

"Archer here. I'm in my Ready Room, go ahead."

It meant he was alone.

"Perhaps you should come to my cabin within the next two hours."

"I understand. I have a few things to finish up. You'll be okay?"

"Yes. However, you may want to take the rest of the day off."

There was a slight delay before he responded. "Understood. Archer out."

---

Eternity passed. Her breath panted at each ticking second, waiting for him to appear. When it reached the one hour and thirty minute mark, precisely, she decided to change into a light robe. Lifting her trembling hand, she reached for the garment in her closet and slipped it onto her sweaty body. It stuck to her slick skin, clinging, reminding her that she needed her _thirst_ quenched. Soon.

_Now!_

Lighting a candle, she attempted to meditate, focusing on trivial matters – uncharted black holes, as she stared into the flame.

Flame.

_No, ash!_

She was alight with desire, burning – sizzling as if her blood was aflame.

_My eyes are flame. My heart is flame._

Wiping a slick brow, she glanced at the portal, distracted. It had opened and in front of it was Jonathan, staring at her. Maybe his eyes were scanning the room which had again been torn apart in her frustration.

_Has he been here long?_

Turning her head to acknowledge his presence, she flushed green, damp hair clinging to her face and two pupils that had swallowed up their irises long before.

"I'm sorry, T'Pol."

Her teeth chattered in response; it stopped him in his tracks. With his hands, he warmed her shoulders as if that would stop the cold that enveloped her skin despite the heat of the room and her blood.

"Admiral Gardner asked if --"

Before he could finish his sentence, she attacked him with her lips. Putting her mouth on his was like a blacksmith dipping a fiery poker into water: hot, wet, and steamy. And she shivered at his touch. Her fingers, and maybe her nails as well, helped to rid him of his uniform quickly. When his skin was free she allowed her hands to trace over him - taut muscles, tanned skin and dark hair. His green eyes were on her and she noticed her breath panted more rapidly.

With a hint of embarrassment in his voice, he spoke.

"T'Pol?" he asked.

Two fingers pressed against his lips as her robe pooled around her ankles.

_I wish your blood boiled as mine does! You would know the inferno that is inside me, waiting for you to cool the fires._

His fingers lifted, his index finger and middle finger poised for her, and she met them eagerly while knitting her eyebrows.

"Come with me to bed," he whispered. His fingers stroked hers as if to encourage her.

It was enough to release more of the madness and she ended the Vulcan kiss to reach her hands around his head, tugging at his hair, and pull him against her. Before long, she was pulling his hand to join her on the mat.

"I cannot wait for the bed," she said. _I must have you now._

TBC


	3. Taste

A/N: Fpwest, I have read several pieces of T/T'P fiction that outline the scenario you indicated. As for Trip, I was trying to show he was concerned for her - they're friends, so I think he would be. Sorry that didn't come across. He's not love-dopey for her, just someone who cares.

-----

Rubbing her thumb against her forearm, she realized her muscles ached, almost to the point of pain, but also hurt in a way that brought her comfort. Her tongue – as well as other parts of her body - hadn't swelled at the idea of sex; and the chaos in her mind had settled into something that resembled order.

It could only mean one thing: the need – the Pon Farr – was waning.

_Finally,_ she thought. _I have spent five days in madness._

Blowing air from her lungs, stale as if she'd been holding it for days, she welcomed logic. Logic. Reason. It cooled her as if gulping ice-cold water, dowsing fires more effectively than sex had. Mating had satisfied her, but only brought new awareness that she would need it again. And soon.

Stretching, reaching her arms and legs as far as they would go, she lazily turned her head to look at the man sleeping beside her. Sporting a few healing bruises on his neck, chest and arms, ones left by her lips primarily, he slept curled on his side. She remembered him spooning her against him last night, tugging her to him possessively – cuddling, he'd said.

A smile almost crossed her lips. Being snuggled into his body, his breath on her neck and his hand resting on her belly, provoked her into falling asleep quickly.

_In one day, I will no longer require his assistance._

His eyes fluttered and then his lips sloped up.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning."

She rested her head back on her pillow.

"Sleep okay?" he asked.

"Quite well. And yourself?"

"Like a rock," he said. "I didn't snore did I?"

"I slept too well to notice."

"Good." He leaned forward as if to kiss her lips and then halted.

She was aware she acted differently when the flames enveloped her with Pon Farr than when they didn't. Three of the five days when she'd awakened, she'd required his help and had no doubt encouraged the touch of their lips. Maybe she'd even presented her lips first, seducing him.

Holding up two fingers, she offered them to him, and he responded by pressing his index and middle fingers to hers.

"I'm … pleased … to inform you my condition is abating," she said.

"Oh?"

"Perhaps I will need you once more, but no more than that."

"I'm glad you're feeling better."

His fingers left hers and he nestled his cheek against the pillow.

"You saved my life," she said. She wasn't sure how many times she'd told him, but it deserved to be said again. "Thank you for your assistance."

Fingertips touched her cheek and he gave a soft smile.

"Of course," he said. With a sigh, his hand retreated.

"I … apologize for any harm I may've caused you."

"Last night was a cake walk," he said. When she knitted her brow, he rephrased his comment. "I'm fine."

"I meant … I meant overall. I apologize for _all _of the harm."

She passed her fingers over a bruise at his neck, one that was placed there four days ago – still purple and swollen, possibly because of the suction involved and the bite she delivered while giving it. Catching her hand, he brought it to the bed to hold it.

"I'm fine, T'Pol."

It wasn't just the bruise, she remembered shredding his skin with her nails and could see evidence along his rib cage; ripping out his hair as she's grabbed his head in ecstasy; and using her Vulcan strength forcing him to yield to her on more than one occasion. Although the only things visible were minor cuts and scrapes, she knew that wasn't the extent of his damage. There was a memory, a night, where she recalled slamming his body onto the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of him and knew it was the night he wrenched his back.

_Or was it when we were in the shower? Or mating against the desk?_

Whichever time it was, he'd been dosing himself with pain reliever in order to protect her honor, preventing from making a trip to see Dr. Phlox, and so that he could continue to help her in anonymity.

Her face must've conveyed her concern, because he leaned over to kiss her – a small peck that landed on her mouth.

"Really. I'm fine," he said.

Relieved at only feeling a tickle in her stomach, she settled back against her bed and watched him silently. His fingers reached out to brush some of the hair from her face and he smiled.

"I believe I can return to work this morning," she said.

"Shouldn't you have Phlox take a look at you first?" he asked.

She was about to disagree, when he shook his head.

"I think you should," he said.

There was logic to his sentiment, so she gave a nod. "Very well."

"Good," he said.

The stared at each other again, and he let his face fall into a lopsided smile. "Maybe we can give each other a signal if you need to … if we're on the Bridge."

"My Pon Farr is greatly diminished. I may even be able to stave that want."

He nodded and then pushed himself from bed. "I should get ready for work."

The two were now comfortable, or at least as much as they could be, being naked in front of the other. Instead of covering up or allowing crimson to touch his cheeks as he had many nights and mornings, he walked with confidence over to his clothes and shimmied into them.

"Let me know how everything goes," he said.

"Of course."

With a smile, he strode out the door.

---

T'Pol took a shower, put on her uniform and wandered down to Sickbay. When she entered, Phlox gave her a beaming grin wrapping his lips up ridiculously and squinting his eyes.

"Commander T'Pol, you look in good health. I trust you are feeling more self control?"

She agreed. "I feel better. Thank you."

He pointed her to the bio-bed and waved a scanner over her, nodding.

"Your fever has passed and it seems your body is reverting to its normal state. I'd like to get a blood sample and do a few other things to make sure."

"Of course."

He said, "I should also give you a pregnancy test."

The information startled her, although logically it shouldn't, and she gave a single nod. Even she knew that despite birth control, there was the odd chance – miniscule though it was – she could conceive. The ovulation of Vulcan women during this time made it more likely, despite typically incompatible genetics between her species and a human.

Quiet, as if Phlox seemed to understand the embarrassment his task caused her, he took more scans and retrieved a hypo. He placed the readings into another device and punched a few buttons on the console nearby.

"It should take only a few minutes," he said. Several seconds passed before he asked her a psychological question that was clearly on his mind. "Things went well with Commander Tucker?"

She didn't correct him.

He said, "No doubt the commander will have difficulty with your new relationship."

This she chose to address. "We are not _in_ a relationship."

"I see." Hesitantly, the doctor added, "Does he know this?"

"He knows."

Phlox narrowed his eyes, but didn't comment. Feeling the weight of his gaze, she spoke up. A timer sounded, almost like the chime of a bell, and he walked over to his console and nodded at the monitor.

"You are not pregnant."

Inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Doctor, may I return to duty?"

Sloping his lips up slowly, he agreed. "I believe so. Let me know if you run into any trouble."

"Thank you." As she hopped from the bed, the doctor went over to a device on the counter and then looked back toward her. "It sees there are no other complications, other than some mild vaginal tearing, but I suppose it's normal for the copulation during this time?"

"Indeed."

T'Pol stood a little straighter and then left to get to the Bridge.

---

When Archer arrived at the Bridge, he realized he was thirty-two minutes late. Although he wasn't the most punctual person on Enterprise – that was reserved for T'Pol and Lt. Reed, in that order – he was nearly always on time or just a few minutes late. Giving an embarrassed smile, he spoke to Reed first.

"Sorry, something came up this morning."

The lieutenant nodded, as if he didn't care, and Archer slipped into his chair. Shifting slightly in his seat, he noticed right away his back spasmed, reminding him he'd also forgotten to shoot up with more pain reliever before he got to work.

Pushing himself from the chair, he paced to work out the kink behind Travis' chair, hoping no one would be the wiser.

"We should be at Betazed in about 41 hours, sir," he said.

"Good. Thank you."

Travis turned his head slightly, narrowing his eyes and the captain got the hint: stop pacing. Halting his gait, he produced an awkward smile and then shoved his hand behind his back like a pregnant woman and headed for his office.

"I'll be in my Ready Room."

When he got there, he immediately began rifling through a few drawers, hoping aloud he'd find something to ease his suffering and then sighed when he spied a canister of pain reliever and a hypo. It was just one left from his time in the Expanse, when he'd managed to convince himself into thinking even a moment away from the Bridge could mean the defeat of Enterprise and Earth's doom.

Just as he loaded the canister he'd located into the device and pulled the trigger in his neck – relief settling into his spine, his chime rang.

"Come in," he said.

He set his hypo down as T'Pol strolled across the threshold to his office. The two were silent and Archer slipped the shot into his desk; he didn't want to worry her and knew she'd inquire.

"What can I do for you?" he said. He was trying his darnedest to sound folksy, like he would any other day.

"I wanted to alert you I was back on duty. There might be awkwardness between us and--"

"I understand. Thanks for letting me know."

There was a brief period of silence and then she nodded. "Of course."

Archer smiled, waving away whatever apprehension he had, and then perched on the edge of his desk glad the drug was starting to take effect.

He said, "Ensign Greco took some scans of the Arcola Nebula and noticed some --"

"You told me – the atmosphere was much hotter than the cartographers, even those of Vulcan, indicated. I presume he sent his findings onto Starfleet."

Archer's grin turned lopsided. "I forgot I mentioned it. Yeah, he sent it to them, but because this is so unusual, they may have trouble looking over the readings. If you could review them …."

"Of course."

"Thanks.

As she was about to turn and head for the door, he spoke hesitantly and in hushed tones.

"You're feeling okay?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Everything with Phlox go all right?"

"Yes." She took in a deep breath. "The doctor conducted a pregnancy test--"

Archer's smile waned only for a moment.

"It was negative."

When his heart rate returned to normal, he said, "Otherwise you're okay?"

"Yes."

"Glad to hear it." Waiting as he gazed at her, hoping she'd bring it up, he eventually lost his patience after a full minute passed. "If you feel the urge--"

"I will let you know, Captain."

"Good."

The thought of putting his fingers into the air and catching hers – something she'd called a Vulcan embrace - fled quickly. Instead he stood at attention, despite the mild grumbling in his back, until she left.

When she did, he scooted behind his desk and brought up pictures of the nebula they just passed. With feigned interest, he brought up one picture and then another.

----

T'Pol walked stiffly to her station, her mind still trying to battle the effects of Pon Farr and her body sore with use. When she sat in front of her console, she heard the turbolift doors open and looked up to see Commander Tucker smiling at her.

"T'Pol! How ya feeling?"

"Better, thank you."

"Must've been some hell of a bug." He shot a bemused grin to Reed, who T'Pol noticed over her shoulder was trying not to look so pleased. "Hardly anything keeps you from your post."

"You are correct."

He seemed a little disappointed she didn't put up a fuss – as if he expected at least some banter – and then leaned over.

"Sure you're well enough to be back here?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"All right." With a slight cough, he nudged toward her a bit. "The captain asked me to recalibrate the scanners – wanted me to make sure everything was in working order. Apparently we picked up some unusual readings around that last nebula."

"Thank you."

His smile widened. "You're welcome."

She went back to her work, but he loitered a few moments.

"Look," he said, "Tonight's one of my favorite movies. I was hoping you could go with me?" When her eyebrow shot up, he told her about a creature called wolf-man and presumably an actor named Lon Cheney.

"A wolf-man?" she asked.

"A guy who turns into a wolf. Kind of --"

Lt. Reed shot across the room. "Hokey."

Trip threw his friend a glare and then turned back to her. "I was going to say: a science fiction-thriller. You'd like it."

For a moment she considered the idea. Being back on the Bridge, working with the crew, spending time with Trip – it was a routine that would make her feel normal again. It was a routine she's missed.

"Perhaps."

"Well, if ya feel like it, that's where I'll be."

She knew he was concerned, perhaps this was his way of showing it, and to ease his worry, she placed a hand gently on his arm.

"Thank you," she said.

A blush smacked over his face and he crouched down under he console. Laying out, his grabbed a tool and then nudged it against the wiring underneath.

He said, "This'll only take a few minutes."

Waiting, hanging next to the console, she caught the faint smell of his sweat. Closing her eyes, she thought about a bead perspiration dripping onto her bare skin, rolling down her neck to splash against the bed. It was flicked by short, dark hair that had dampened in the mating frenzy. _His _sweat. It had trickled onto her skin just as her body shivered in completion … as she gasped for breath while he began to shake above her, his eyes wide – trained on her.

They'd kissed, an embrace initiated by her, and as he was about to push away from her and lie at her side, she tugged his body closer.

"_What?" he asked. "You all right?"_

_A tongue darted from her mouth and traced his neck. Salt clung to her palette and to her surprise when she swallowed, drawing away, he kissed at her temple. _

"_You need me again?" he asked. The question was followed him pressing his lips to the side of her face, near her hairline, once more._

"_No," she said._

"_Then …?"_

_An illogical answer sprang from her lips. "I wanted to see what you tasted like."_

_His hand smoothed over her hair. "And?"_

"_Tears."_

Eyes open, the familiar sizzle ruminated and she felt memory and reason attempt to flee her brain – the pounding of her heart grew deafening. Swallowing, she weighed her options: collect the captain and head for her room or wait.

"All finished," said Trip. Pushing himself from the floor, he frowned at her. "Sorry it took so long."

Her brow knitted, and he pushed his eyebrows together, too. "What?" he asked.

A gaze toward her chronometer startled her – he'd been there for three hours tinkering with her equipment. Licking her lips, she shook her head.

"Nothing. I just didn't realize so much time had passed."

He gave a small grin. "Let me know if you have any trouble with your scanners."

She slipped into her seat. "I will."

As he stepped into the turbolift, he called after her. "And let me know about the wolf-man."

The door shut, and she heard her voice call to him. "I will." Distractedly, she watched her hand, the one perched over the wheel at her scanner, shake.

_Collect him now._

When she reached the threshold of his Ready Room door, punching the button at the door open without asking for entry, she stepped inside. Instead of confusion, he swallowed deeply.

"You need me?" asked the captain.

Staring, allowing her eyes to dart over his face, fall into his chin, skim his neck and stay at the smallest bit of skin and hair viewable because of his shirt that was splayed open, she gulped too. The fires burning her eyes, making them dry and hot with flame, hurt, and without another thought, she closed the door behind her.

"Yes," she said. She then programmed a locking code, one that would keep everyone out and her in. "I thought about your taste."

TBC


	4. His reasons were somewhat selfish

Most everything was a blur, her initiating the mating, his attempt to calmly leave his office in favor of something more private and her refusal to let him do so. It wasn't logical, to keep him there, but she wanted to; and after pressing her mouth demandingly to his – tongue slipping between his lips – and unzipping his uniform, he seemed more amenable to the idea. PADDs scattered to the floor by his hands and he ravished her with his lips as she writhed beneath him – her voice begging him quietly.

This interlude was meant to be quick, but languished much longer than she'd intended – ten minutes became forty – until she felt ecstasy and the clarity it brought to her mind. Panting, she gathered her clothes hurriedly and shimmied into them, apologizing for her lack of discretion. Her fingers were on the button to let her leave, when his hand stopped her – his breath ragged and his uniform still tossed to the floor. A frown smacked on his face, one that she could tell was teeming with confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I assumed we were through?"

Stepping into his clothes, he spoke to her. "Give me a second."

When he was done and his uniform was back on, he bowed his head, ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He stooped to pick up PADDs and other items that had been tossed or jostled from his desk, and she crouched to assist him. As he picked various items up and placed them on his desk, T'Pol sensed he was becoming angry.

She apologized for the indiscretion again. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, one that she could tell was empty, so she attempted to explain herself.

"I presume I allowed the need to build and lost my sanity. Perhaps it was hasty to return to work."

A final PADD was tossed to his desk with a sigh, but he had yet to meet her eyes. Reaching out to right his collar, which was catawampus, she continued to note he was upset and yet not angry any more. When she was satisfied he looked presentable, including wiping lipstick from his mouth – placed there by her – she retreated.

"Thanks," he said.

She nodded and he returned the favor, pushing a piece of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. The two were silent, but she could tell he wanted to say something.

"You're upset?" she asked.

"I crossed a line today," he said. "What I do in my cabin or yours is personal, but here? Here, I'm your commanding officer. Here, I'm your captain."

She didn't understand the distinction, but attempted to alleviate the concern over where exactly they mated.

She said, "I didn't give you much choice."

"I had a choice. You weren't the only one who showed indiscretion, T'Pol. I guess I should be telling you I'm sorry, too."

Knitting her brow, she was about to remind him that she locked the door when the comm beeped. Leaning over, his eyes focused on the intercom at his desk, he responded.

"Archer," he said.

"Sir, the Betazed ambassador sent through a communication with information on customs and rituals," said Hoshi.

"I'll read it in here."

"Aye, sir," she said.

With that, her captain headed behind his desk and plopped down into his chair. He didn't have the gleam in his eye, the one he usually got when hearing or reading about unknown species. And T'Pol was about to inquire further, when he stopped that line of thinking.

"Maybe you should take the rest of the day off."

"I _have_ been distracted," she said. "Perhaps I could review the nebula scans from my room."

He sighed. "If you feel the urge let me know, but let's make my office off-limits."

"I believe our foray here was the last."

His head bobbed and then he looked down at his desk. Once more her fingers were on the button to release her and she found herself turning to him.

"Jonathan?" she asked.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"This is just a room, and everywhere on this ship, you're still Jonathan – a man - as well as the captain. More, you're my friend. Knowing that you're fretting over this particular issue would displease me."

A faint smile crept onto his lips. "You're my friend, too."

With that, she left. Strolling onto the Bridge, no one gave her a second glance – having no idea what just occurred – and she headed back to her station to send all the scans to her room where they could be analyzed. After doing so, which took longer than she expected, she informed Lt. Reed she would be in her cabin for the rest of the day and the English man nodded.

"Hope you feel better," he said just as she walked into the turbolift.

"Thank you," she said.

---

He'd read the information on the Betazed people – understanding their matriarchal society that what seemed like absolutely no inhibitions. The ambassador shared the source material freely, including information about naked weddings, heightened sexuality – especially women, and their ability to sense emotions easily.

Even at the end of his shift, he downloaded the information to a PADD and took it with him. He wanted to understand all the nuances and get a feel for these people they'd see in now roughly a day. He wanted to be ready so that he could converse on a range of topics without embarrassing himself; in his own mind, he was still an inexperienced diplomat.

Heading back to his cabin, he passed moviegoers headed to some old movie Trip had undoubtedly scheduled – it was a horror/sci-fi combo shown in black and white. The name of the movie escaped him, but he knew it had a supernatural creature – not Dracula, but another one. As he rounded a corner, he saw T'Pol and Trip heading there.

A frown nearly marred his face, but he stopped its formation. "Hey," he said.

"T'Pol's feeling better, so she decided to join me," said Trip.

"Apparently the … wolf-man … is a movie not to be missed," she said.

"I see," said Archer. "Well, have a nice time."

"You could join us, if you would like," said T'Pol.

A grin forced its way to his mouth. "That's all right. I wanted to study up on the people of Betazed."

"Hoshi told me they seem kinda hedonistic," said Trip. "Though, a planet full of free thinkers might be just what the doctor ordered."

"They do seem uninhibited," said Archer. "Kind of refreshing."

"The Vulcans have always … enjoyed … their encounters with them, even if they are overly talkative."

"Sounding better all the time," said Trip.

A smile drifted to his lips and Archer knew it was the kind that meant every statement teasingly rather than indicating the engineer was going to run half-naked onto the planet demanding women. And like clockwork, T'Pol shoved an eyebrow into the air and tipped her head to Trip, as if it was her only comeback.

"Maybe we can bring you to the surface after T'Pol and I have finished the negotiation," said Archer.

"Some people have all the luck," said Trip.

Archer left the two and headed back to his cabin, where as soon as the door closed behind him, he kicked off his shoes and then sat on his bed, PADD in hand. Porthos jumped up, giving one bark for attention before being hushed, and Jon put down the information and stroked his dog's fur. A pink tongue darted out to sweep across the captain's face and the man couldn't help, but laugh - despite telling his companion not to lick.

After allowing the animal one more lap onto his cheek, he got up to put some kibble in Porthos' bowl. The captain watched the dog divert attention, wandering from his feet to feed ravenously. The smile that was on Archer's lips faded and he thought about this afternoon.

"_I thought about your taste," she said._

_A woman had never told him that, and coming from her lips – one that held perspiration on them – stroked his ego in a way that made him feel masculine and desirable. He attempted, in vain, a couple of times to lead her out of his office, but she writhed under his touch and distracted him with kisses – her tongue darting to his neck and ear. When he heard his uniform being unzipped, he stared into her eyes – the velvety brown ones he'd seen nearly every day for the past eight years –watching him now with yearning, turning black. Green flushed her cheek and her lips, pink with lipstick, quivered for him. _

"_I want you," she said. _

_She'd never said those words before to him either, she'd only used "need" in their conversations – even during the height of Pon Farr. And soon his libido and good judgment caved as he pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue searching to find hers. Clothing flew quickly from their bodies and he knew the pace she wanted – her mating cycle demanded satisfaction right away and yet he wanted this, their last time, to linger, to quench them slowly. He wanted to be selfish, to enjoy their union, to allow himself to be a man. He wanted to please her as a woman._

"_I want you, too," he said. Pushing the PADDs and anything else he could see on his desk, he let them scatter to the floor. _

He sighed.

_He could tell when reason returned to her – he'd been able to tell for the past five days when logic crept back into her mind. It wasn't just she'd reached her apex, her face transformed – her eyes looked less tortured and her lips flattened themselves into a thin line of non-emotion. It was always good to see his friend return from madness, gain confidence and the reason he'd relied on, but this time …. _

_Right away, she tossed her clothing on and gazed at him with gratitude._

_It made him feel all the more self-interested, as if he'd misused his friend. He couldn't be selfish as the captain, his primary duty was to his ship and crew; he'd violated that trust with T'Pol, even if she was unaware of it._

Before he'd come to her, that first night, to offer himself, he'd thought about talking to Trip and telling him what T'Pol was going through. His friend would probably volunteer, as would nearly anyone on board. Everyone liked the woman, she'd grown on each one since her first days aboard Enterprise, and continued to prove what an asset she was.

And yet, he didn't go to Trip. Although he didn't know much about their relationship, he knew when it ended and saw the hurt on both their faces. It didn't make sense to stir up that trouble again; and he couldn't bear to watch either of his friends wrestle with the implications.

When he looked back at his motives for offering himself to her, he'd remembered them being honest and pure. Everything he said was correct – he was her friend and he'd had sex with women where no expectations of a relationship existed. He'd intended for that to be true, and believed it would be.

And yet being with her made him remember suppressed feelings – the one he thought he'd disposed of long ago – and they returned to him with the same confusion. He hoped they would dissipate again, or wander off where he couldn't access them, telling himself it was for her good as well as his own. He wanted to make good on his promise – sex to save her life with no strings attached, where they would still remain friends.

_May take a few days,_ he told himself. He'd exorcized this feeling before with her, he could do so again.

Lying down on his bed, he picked up his PADD and began to read again about the Betazoid.

----

The next day, T'Pol was at her station, perched over her scanner as she'd been a million times before. And Archer had to sigh internally.

_Good. Normal._

He slid into his chair and immediately grabbed at his lower back and climbed out of the chair.

"You all right, sir?" asked Reed.

Everyone's attention was on him and under T'Pol's gaze he lowered his hand – she or rather her Pon Farr was the reason his back was bothering him. She must've understood because the smallest frown slipped across her face.

"I'm fine."

"May I get you anything?" asked T'Pol.

"Nah, it's nothing, really."

Pointing to his office, he explained he'd return shortly. Stepping inside and riffling through his desk, he found one more canister of pain reliever. When he loaded it, he sent it into his neck and sighed. Taking T'Pol against his desk didn't do his back any favors, if anything it made it worse. As he contemplated getting additional medicine from Phlox, and how he'd do it without the doctor's knowledge, he heard his bell chime.

"Come in."

T'Pol strolled in and Archer realized his lips sloped up involuntarily.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "It's not that bad. I think honestly some of it has to do with age." He gave a mild laugh, and she seemed unconvinced. Before she could inquire further, he asked about the film and last night.

"So was the movie as good as Trip said?" he asked.

"Although I found it more interesting than _Bride of Dracula_, I did not find it as fascinating as _Frankenstein_."

He smiled. "Still, it's probably good to get out, start doing things with the crew. You've been kinda holed up for more than a week."

"I have."

He was about to sit at his desk and give her the update on the Betazoid, when he felt a hand grip his arm. Looking down, he stared at her hand and then into her eyes. Although she touched him now and again, it always surprised and honored him.

"What?" he asked. "You feel the remnants of --?"

"No," she said. Her hand fell from his arm. "You know that Trip and I aren't seeing each other."

He furrowed his brow. "I know."

"I wanted to make that clear."

"You think I'm jealous?" he asked.

"There is bound to be some confusion because of what we just encountered together, and I felt it necessary to--"

"We agreed to be friends," he said.

"Yes," she said.

"You feel confused?" he asked.

"Of course not." She stiffened. "I am relieved to know you have not suffered unduly. Human emotions--"

"We talked about this," he said. "I'm fine – my emotional well-being and my back. Okay?"

"All right," she said.

He scooted behind his desk, talking about the information he'd gleaned and pointed to a seat. Invariably, she took it and the two discussed Vulcan encounters with these people and what to expect. She'd explained she'd met one, provided a description of that encounter, and then the two strategized their approach.

After a few hours, she stood to take her leave of him. Before heading out the door, she turned.

"This may not be the right time--"

"Go ahead."

"You assisted me with my first Pon Farr, Jonathan." She swallowed. "I had not anticipated that it would be as …."

He waited.

"It was not as I expected."

"Surak's memories …. He seemed to think it was embarrassing, but – I doubt other Vulcans would believe me – he thought it was enjoyable."

"We refer to it as an illness."

"I know," he said. Although his heart was beating faster, he tried to still it. "What made you tell me?"

"I know I've shared my gratitude with you before, but …. I was determined to perish."

"I know."

"I've been wondering why you came to me the first night."

"I couldn't allow you to die."

"I see," she said. He could tell there was more she wanted to say, but instead of voicing it, she placed her hands behind her back and strolled out the door.

Watching as the portal closed, he wondered if she was confused. Last night, when he'd rolled over in his bed, he'd been disappointed – in a way – that a woman wasn't there, one that he could hug to his chest and drape his arm over. There was no hair to nuzzle his nose into and no temple to kiss.

_Just give it a couple of days._


	5. A typical day in Betazed

She'd taken special precautions last night and this morning to purge her emotions, suppress them entirely through meditation, hiding them behind a mask of logic and reason. And with Pon Farr having run its course – the emotions, passion, eroticism and chaos gone – she could finally do so.

With a cleansing breath, she blew out the candle in front of her and pushed herself from her mat. She strolled into the Mess Hall and then made her way to the Captain's Mess where she saw the captain and Trip already talking as they would any day, eating what they always had for breakfast.

They both greeted her, Archer mid-way through swallowing his coffee, giving a wave, and Trip forcing out a "morning" with a mouth full of pancakes.

"Good morning," she returned.

Slipping into a seat and throwing her napkin over her lap, she looked at the bowl of Plomek broth in front of her with satisfaction.

_A typical day._

Trip pointed a fork at the captain. "Maybe you can give him neuropressure for his back." With a laugh, he continued. "You should've seen him come in here this morning; he could barely sit down."

Archer frowned. "I thought you agreed not to talk about it."

Trip stood up and then imitated the gesture, hand shooting in all directions as his knees bent, attempting to feel the chair behind him. When his grip finally reached the back of his seat, he slowly eased himself down while biting his lip and closing his eyes.

"It wasn't like that at all," said Archer. His eye caught T'Pol's and he blushed, bowing his head.

Trip laughed. "I don't think those Betazed women – the ones with heightened sexuality – are gonna go for a captain who looks like Frankenstein while trying to sit down."

The captain sighed. "You know, Trip, not everyone goes on assignments with the goal of getting their rocks off."

The engineer raised his eyebrows at the comeback and continued to grin mischievously, undeterred. Slicing his fork through the air, he shook his head.

"All I'm saying is you should get that looked at." And then putting his fork down, he asked, "So, how'd you wrench it anyway?"

"Fell in the shower," he said. Crimson had migrated from his cheeks to begin spreading down his throat and to his ears.

"Trip's suggestion has merit, Captain," she said. "Neuropressure may be able to help you."

"I appreciate the offer, but I won't have a chance to before going to Betazed," he said.

The way he said it made her think he would never take her up on that offer, and in a way she could understand. She knew, all too well, that the Vulcan art was personal and intimate. Dimmed lights, candles burning, donning pajamas on or a light robe to allow her flexibility to touch his naked back near the base of his spine, her fingers pivoting against his skin …. She shivered.

"Cold in here?" asked Trip. "I could turn the heat up a little."

"No," she said. Lowering her lids, she wondered where that response came from and quickly tightened her emotional control. "No, I'm fine."

"Well, I'll see ya'll off before you head down to the planet," he said. "You leaving at ten-hundred?"

"Yeah," said Archer.

Getting up, the engineer tossed his napkin in his chair and then scooted out the door, a whistle on his lips.

When the portal slid shut, an odd quiet broke out – not the comfortable silence she was used to with her captain. She could hear his fork clink against the plate to finish his eggs and even hear the engines – the slight hum of the deck plating – under her feet. The captain was not as chatty as Trip, but every morning the two had plenty to talk about – typically the days events; and even when they didn't they'd converse about myriad other topics, she would've considered him a good conversationalist … until now.

If he were merely silent, it wouldn't have bothered her. But, she noticed his eyes were everywhere except on her, as if dodging her gaze, and that made her more uncomfortable. With Vulcan patience, she let the discomfort linger for nearly ten minutes before attempting to address it.

"Something the matter?" she asked.

"Hmmm?" he asked.

Gazing at him, she waited.

"No," he said.

"You're worried about meeting with the Betazoids today?"

She watched, he had half a glass of orange juice left and she knew his habits well enough to know he was committed to eating breakfast for at least another fifteen minutes. The man drank the entire glass every day and maybe was more married to routines than she.

"No," he said.

"You're quiet this morning."

He shrugged. "Not much to say."

"You always have something to say, every morning."

"We've already debriefed about Betazed," he said. "Trip and I took care of the duty roster …."

A few nights ago, he'd talked about starting a book he'd read as a boy: _Great Expectations_. That seemed like a way to make what the humans referred to as small talk.

"Have you started _Great Expectations_?" she asked.

His eyebrows shot up and hers pressed down. She'd forgotten the exact circumstances of how the book came up until just now. If she'd remembered before, she wouldn't have asked the question.

_They were naked, both of them – his hair wet and his chest visible. A dark patch of fur covered his lightly tan skin, growing denser near his stomach and just above the covers. His eyes shone, even in the candlelight of the room she could distinguish the green hue, and a toothless smile played on his lips._

"_You seem pleased," she said. _

"_I am." And then he nuzzled his face into the pillow. "Aren't you?"_

_He'd kissed and licked most of her skin and she could faintly recall him whispering her name as he trembled below her. Although she didn't need his mouth caressing her body or him to call her name to feel satiated, she decided that it was pleasant – extraordinarily so. Had she chosen a Vulcan to assist her, there would not be such platitudes. Her human partner was tender, quenching the fire that more than once a day threatened to scorch her, taking care of only her needs. What she'd read about human sexuality was that he had needs as well, ones not confined to Pon Farr._

"_Yes," she said._

"_You had to think about it?" he asked. His voice was teasing, rather than appalled._

"_No," she told him. With her hand forming two fingers, she stroked his neck. "I was thinking about how you called my name." He closed his eyes at the touch, and then she continued. "I found that particularly pleasing."_

_When his eyes opened, his fingers stroked hers. "This is different than I would've imagined."_

"_What did you expect?" she asked. _

_He sighed. "I've seen into Surak's katra, but …. This is different."_

"_Perhaps because you are a human."_

_His fingers stopped. _

_She rubbed her cheek against the pillow. "I meant, two Vulcans mating would only satisfy each others' needs."_

"_You feel other needs are being met?" he asked._

"_Not _needs_ per se, but the touching and the talking … among other things … are pleasant."_

_It was one of the rare times, outside of Pon Farr, that she reached over to kiss his lips and spread them open with her tongue. As she did so, she felt his fingers intertwine with hair and heard him moan into her open throat; she could tell he was aroused. After a few minutes, she separated his lips from hers – a pant at his mouth._

"_I presume you don't want to read the book you brought?" she said._

"_I read _Great Expectations _as a boy. I wouldn't be crushed if I didn't get to it tonight." His eyes turned toward her and his palm cupped her cheek. "Why, you need me again?"_

"_Yes," she lied._

_As their lips connected once more, his demanding, she tried to determine the reason behind asking to mate again, and wondered if she was doing it for his benefit or for hers. _

"No, I haven't started it yet," he said. Standing up, flipping his napkin into the chair, he told her he'd meet her in the Shuttle Bay at 0930 hours. It'd give them a chance to pack for a couple night's stay and provide him the opportunity to give Hoshi his security code so she could check on Porthos. With that, he left.

T'Pol noticed his orange juice was still half-full.

----

The ride to the planet was quiet, and uneventful. They made the smallest of small talk on the way down, and Archer – for one – was glad she didn't bring up anything else they'd whispered to each other during her Pon Farr. When she'd asked him about the book earlier, his skin prickled and goose bumps ran down his arms; he remembered that night being particularly sweet.

He could use the extra time to get ready anyway, he decided that when he'd made a fast exit: leaving early from breakfast enabled him to sneak a few canisters of pain reliever out of Sickbay, while Travis was otherwise occupying the doctor, and shoot himself up with the drug before they left. Sitting in a chair for three hours made it a necessity to ensure he had plenty of medication.

When he'd landed the shuttle, he grabbed his tote and opened the door as T'Pol strolled onto a world she'd already visited. She'd warned him that the planet was like Earth, but he didn't realize how much until he looked out into the azure heavens – puffy, white clouds floating by, and walked onto a field of small purple flowers that resembled the fragrance of roses. Arbors, something that reminded him of lemon trees, were ripe with fruit and dotted the landscape almost protecting a terra-cotta building he could also see from the landing pad.

"Welcome to Betazed," said T'Pol.

"It's just as beautiful as you told me," he replied.

A woman in her late fifties, one with dark hair curled in a style he could've imagined ancient Greeks wearing and a pink toga to match, headed for them. Human-looking, a ruby red smile darted across her face and she extended a delicate hand.

"I believe you shake hands?" she asked.

He put his hand out and took it. "We do. I'm Captain Jonathan Archer."

"Ambassador Telana Mator, daughter of the Fifth House and holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx."

Staring at her, he wondered what was so intriguing and alluring about her eyes.

Telana said, "I believe the difference is called a pupil."

"Yes, they're black," he said, smiling.

"And I don't believe we have eyes the color of yours – like fields or fronds."

_I forgot she could sense my thoughts._

"I'm sorry, Captain, she said. "On Betazed, we welcome the exchange of thoughts readily."

"It's all right." He gave an awkward smile. "This is my first officer, T'Pol."

"Welcome," she said. Her hand formed a "v" and T'Pol returned the greeting.

"Please, we've been expecting you," said Telana.

A tall man, balding, walked up to Archer and without a word took the bag from his shoulder and then turned and took the one from T'Pol. As Archer's eyebrows furrowed together, wrinkles sporting on his brow, Telana explained.

"He has grown up with my family."

A slave? he thought. 

"Certainly not. A servant and a trusted friend, not a slave." She turned to the captain. "My people have never bound others to servitude. Our empathy and telepathy make it impossible for us to do so."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," he said.

Telana laughed. "That's another thing, Captain, it's hard to offend a Betazoid."

Archer gave a glance toward T'Pol who gave the merest of raised eyebrows.

The woman and her man servant jotted off toward the terra cotta home, passing flowering trees with ripe fruit, small birds shimmered iridescent in the sunlight and plants in pots growing wild teased their eyes in fuchsia, orange and magenta. Animals, like peacocks, strutted on the grounds – their plumage fuller and more brilliant, including reds and yellows. And fountains, large ceramic structures – statues – filled their gardens, heroes of long ago pouring water into a pool below.

Telana, as they walked, described and named everything that piqued Archer's attention, as if the tour was made for him. It amazed him that every thought that came to his mind was answered so quickly, as nimbly as if the conversation happened aloud. And his hostess even addressed that.

"Captain … may I call you Jonathan?" she asked. At his head nod, she continued. "We've been telepathic and empathic for so many years that we have all but discontinued speech."

"I notice you haven't tried to read T'Pol's thoughts," he said.

It caused the woman to stop for a moment and regard the Vulcan.

She said, "Past experience has told us that Vulcans do not enjoy us reading their thoughts."

T'Pol concurred. "And I thank you for it, Ambassador," she said.

The woman waved her hand, resplendent with jewels, in the air. "I was able to detect for the most part, you are bemused by me reading yours, Jonathan. If you find it unsettling--"

His eyes turned to T'Pol, who seemed the perfect picture of serenity, and shook his head. "I don't mind."

"I'm going to enjoy humans," she said.

It caused a laugh to escape his lips.

----

Telana led them to her patio and poured them what he determined was Betazed wine. She said a few words over the glasses and lifted the goblet to her lips. The conversation continued, including how exciting it was to meet new races this way. Stretching out in the chaise lounges, she asked every question it seemed she could think of, and Archer and T'Pol answered every one.

They told her how many people were on Earth, how many continents – including which one he was from, what the name of the solar system was called, how many planets it contained, which ones had life, how humans were descended from apes, that other creatures had ruled Earth until a meteor crashed – killing off plants and animals …. Finally, when night fell the hostess slipped away for a moment to check on dinner, and T'Pol turned to her captain.

"You're enjoying yourself," said T'Pol.

"I can't get over how much they seem like humans."

"She _is _rather talkative."

A smile plastered onto his face; he considered it a compliment to his species. "I can't believe it's taken so long to meet them. Seems like the most interesting race we've met." Teasingly, he said, "Next to the Vulcans, of course."

"Indeed."

"Is all of Betazed this beautiful?" he asked. Something about the landscape, maybe the fact he felt so relaxed, made his skin tingle with the smallest hints of desire. Looking at T'Pol's eyes, watching the amber flecks, he noticed her pupil enlarged by the tiniest fraction.

"I presume. Most of the meetings we've had with them have taken place at their capital, behind closed doors."

"You didn't get out in the country?" he asked.

"We had no need."

"Too bad," he said. Sipping his drink, he watched the moon shine on the trees surrounding the property and imagined for a split second his back flat against one as he kissed T'Pol deeply. Shaking himself from this fantasy, he coughed. "Why don't Vulcans want to share their thoughts?"

"Our thoughts are considered private, personal." A tongue darted against her upper lip and for a second he wondered if she was coming onto him.

Telana came back onto the patio and invited her guests to dine with her, walking into the palatial estate. The hostess turned to Archer, a beaming grin on her face, and shook her head.

"I can't 'afford' this place; it has been passed down to me from my mother and her mother before me – all daughters of the Fifth House. All ambassadors. Having a large estate such as this allows me visitors such as yourself."

"Huh," he said. "Seems reasonable."

"Tomorrow, we'll join others from my world. But, tonight, I thought a quiet supper would be in order," she said.

Telana took them into a room with a circular table, a slice missing so that someone could walk in the middle and presumably ring the copper gong that stood there. Lifting a fresh glass, a tiny one, she motioned out and said a few words. Her servant, who seemingly came from nowhere, hit the gong – letting it clang. Archer took it as his chance to drink, but T'Pol placed her hand over his and the moment their skin touched, he felt it burn. Jerking his hand away from hers, he stared into her eyes.

"Not yet," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He controlled a pant and nodded.

One ring became two, three four … and then twenty and then thirty and Archer, for the first time during their visit wondered whether he'd develop a headache from the noise, but restrained hoping it would end soon.

Telana looked at her guests. "I think we can skip the rest."

Food was passed and each took some on their plate – copper dishes with utensils that looked something in between a fork and a chopstick. Telana showed him how to use it quickly and with a frown, he noticed T'Pol had already perfected the movement. Of course, he admired the ascent of the meal into her lips, distracting him from his own dinner.

"Jonathan, you have an interesting mind," said Telana.

_So, I've been told._

"It's true. It's as if you have the remnants of someone else's thoughts and the ability to block feelings … like a Vulcan."

"It's a long story," he said. His eyes would've drifted over to T'Pol's if he wasn't afraid of staring at her. As he frowned, he watched Telana lean in.

"When reading through the information you provided, I didn't see anything regarding mating."

He nearly choked, but managed to keep his windpipe clear.

"I didn't realize it was a sensitive subject," she said.

He shook his head, his eyes heading to T'Pol. "It's not sensitive, we're just not as open as perhaps you are."

"Should I bring that topic to a close?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"Good. I've wondered, how do you identify attraction?"

"Humans have signs that they recognize, even subconsciously," said T'Pol. "Scientifically speaking, their pupils dilate, they release pheromones and occasionally they blush."

As if to almost prove the point, Archer blushed at her comment.

"And how are you able to tell these things?" she asked.

"Humans read body language," said Archer, a smile on his face. "And I suppose we communicate the old fashioned way – talk."

The woman frowned, her eyes darting to T'Pol, and Archer got the idea she wanted to say something other than what she said next. "Betazoid relationships are wonderfully uncomplicated. We, like the Vulcans, are bonded to someone early in life. When our spouses die," she gave the smallest of frowns, "we are free to explore our sexuality with others."

"Does it always work out?" he asked. "Bonding?"

"When two are genetically intertwined, the chances seem greater for success … but sometimes it's not enough. We separate if the bond is not desirable." Leaning in, she asked, "How do you take spouses, Jonathan?"

"We fall in love and then marry – have a ceremony that is recognized by friends, family and our government."

She said, "Your government cares about that? How peculiar."

Before he answered, she asked another question. "Falling in love … what is that like?"

"Hard to describe really," he said.

And as he searched for the right words, she nodded her head. "Yes, that's when we call each other Imzadi."

"Imzadi - that has a nice ring," he said.

"Are you Imzadi?" she asked, pointing to the two of them.

"No," he said. His eyes worked over to T'Pol and he felt himself shiver under her scrutiny, and she _was _scrutinizing him. Reminding himself that being friends would take a little time, he changed the conversation by complimenting the meal and put his napkin down.

After dinner they moved back outside and wound down the evening. She told all the basics of her planet, filling in information that wasn't provided in the database and as he continued to try to capture T'Pol's gaze, and seemingly vice versa, soon the night grew late. Her servant appeared and she offered that he would show them to their rooms.

Does this guy never speak for himself? 

"He can't actually," she said. "Stal is mute."

A grimace formed over his mouth and before he could apologize, she waved him off. "Remember, Betazeds are hard to offend."

_I should be thankful for that._

As T'Pol retired for the evening, Archer watched her walk away and then landed his gaze back on the host. After they sipped their drink quietly, Telana finally spoke up, as if she'd been meaning to address this conversation all night.

"I've been wanting to talk with you about her," said Telana. "Her emotions are much closer to the surface than other Vulcans."

He knew that was true first-hand. "Is that a problem?" he asked.

"I was able to detect her emotions and a few of her thoughts without trying. There are embers left of her mating cycle. Although I am able to control my emotions and block her thoughts … I wonder if other more powerful telepaths and empaths will have greater difficulty."

He waited.

She said, "It might create some issues tomorrow when I introduce you two."

"Should I ask her to leave?"

"It would be a shame; she's a nice young woman. I was thinking there was another solution in mind, especially knowing how you two feel about each other."

Something popped into his head, and she addressed it right away.

"Jonathan, it seems you've been more than friends for some time. Now, you're simply more than friends who've shared each other's bodies. I know when you mentioned falling in love, you thought of her."

He didn't like her saying that to him, and bristled at the comment. "I'm her captain," he said. "She reports to me."

"If you felt that strongly about your title, you wouldn't have engaged her in the first place." Taking a drink of her beverage, she pointed to him. "There is a Betazoid saying, you've already walked more than half-way, you might as well finish your hike."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"Stal will show you where she is," she said.

Archer threw the woman a frown and then stalked off, behind her servant. The rest of her home was just as grandiose and as he followed along – he went from one splendor to another. Twisting corridors finally led to a string of bedrooms on the west side and the servant pointed to a door. The captain knocked, taking a deep breath.

When he didn't hear anything, he attempted to open it and was surprised it was unlocked. In the moonlight, he could see T'Pol, she was clad in her blue pajamas and lying on top of the covers – her body dead to the world. As he was about to turn around and leave, he heard a voice.

"Do you need something?" she asked.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said. And then with a wrinkled forehead, he realized he was intent on waking her.

"What it is?" she asked. Pushing her form to sit up, she looked at him as he headed to sit at the edge of her bed.

"Telana was able to pick up some of your emotions." At her worried brow, he shook his head. "She indicated there are embers left from the throes of Pon Farr, and said it may be difficult to have you here on the planet."

The Vulcan quipped an eyebrow, one he could see even in the dark. "I didn't realize–"

"It's all right, but I'm thinking maybe I should continue the negotiations without you."

"I could spend the remainder of my time tonight meditating."

"I got the impression these people are highly developed telepaths – more than Vulcans. Do you think meditation will be able to alleviate them sensing your --?"

"I shouldn't take that risk. I'll ask Commander Tucker to transport me back to Enterprise first thing tomorrow."

He nodded and pushed himself off her bed. Just as he nearly made it to the door, he turned to her.

"Are you still in Pon Farr?" he asked.

"You're correct when you use the words embers – my cycle is over and reason has been restored … and yet, occasionally I can feel it singe me."

"You're okay?" he asked. "I mean … do you--?"

"I do not _require_ your assistance, if that's what you're asking."

He nodded and then looked down at his feet.

"Is there something else?" she asked.

He thought about Telana's words – suggesting T'Pol felt the same way he did. Watching her form, its silhouette, his eyes traipsed over the rise and fall of her chest and he felt his breath suddenly keep time with hers. It was a pant, and he heard his breath noisily escape his nostrils.

"No, nothing else."

"Jonathan?" she asked.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"Sit down on the bed."

Mistrusting his own feet, he dragged them back over. "What?" he asked her.

"Sit," she instructed him.

When he did, she gave him further instructions. "Look over at the other wall."

"Why?"

After telling him to simply do so, and as he swiveled his body, realizing his back was bothering him, he felt a hand press against his lower vertebrae – even through his uniform – and gasped. Wind rushed down his throat and his fingers tingled. Small circles loosened strained muscles and his eyelids began to droop with drowsiness. He wasn't sure how long she continued to swivel her hands in that area, but when her touch left him he pointed his half-lidded gaze at her.

"Does that feel better?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Neuropressure?"

"Neuropressue."

"I thought you had to make contact with skin," he said.

"It helps." And then quietly she asked, "Would you like me to do so?"

More relaxed than he could remember feeling in some time, a part of him leapt at the opportunity.

"I think I'm okay," he said.

A hand reached at his neck and he felt a light tapping at the base and he gasped again – this time with more gusto as if it were almost a moan. His arms immediately went limp and his toes stiffened. When she stopped he found himself unzipping his uniform, getting the idea just how therapeutic it would be. He pushed the coveralls to his hips and began taking off his shirt and under shirt, his arm hairs standing on end at the feel of her breath on his back.

Warm hands maneuvered on his spine, and he heard himself moan at the feel, letting his head drop against his chest.

"I didn't mean to ask about the book today. I hadn't remembered exactly when you spoke of it," she said.

"It's all right," he whispered. "You looked just as embarrassed as me."

Reaching nearly to where the waistband of his Starfleet briefs, she pushed on a vertebrae and he felt his body nearly crumble. She placed her other hand on his shoulder to keep him upright.

"That's it, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," he said breathlessly.

A breeze flapping the curtains barely caught his attention and he realized the cool night air felt good on his skin, he was almost beginning to feel warm.

"Lie down," she said.

And he stretched himself over her bed and she crawled on top of him, resting on his fanny. As an afterthought, she asked if he minded and he shook his head, especially once her fingers worked their magic.

"No," he said.

The tapping migrated from bliss to neurons exploding in his brain, pleasure centers and endorphins released that made him push his arm out so his hand could grip the bed, clenching the covers in his grasp. His breath went ragged and he felt himself writhe under her touch, his hips pushing into the bedspread in slow intervals. Just as he was about as keyed up as he could ever remember being, she removed her hands.

"I believe that should suffice you longer than your pain reliever."

She climbed off him and stood at his side when reptilian brain function took over for him, much the same way it had in his Ready Room when he'd pushed equipment to the floor.

"Telana actually suggested another solution," he said.

"Oh?"

He pushed his body over so that his back was against her bedspread. "Yeah, she thought maybe I could help you with the last of your embers. She suggested if I did that you might be able to stay."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I see."

For some reason, he could tell his words were sizzling her in the same way she'd just enticed him. To sweeten the deal, his lips touched her fingertips and he confessed to her.

"I've missed holding you," he told her.

His tongue lapped at a digit and he could see T'Pol quiver, and yet she didn't budge. Instead, she tipped her head to one side and furrowed her brow.

"I gave you neuropressure to help your back … and to stimulate you. Why did I do that?" she asked.

"You said you feel embers, maybe it's that," he said. "Besides, I liked it."

"All night I have felt twinges of desire."

"So have I."

The Vulcan pressed her lips firmly to his, crushing her lips on his and then forcing herself away. "Telana seemed _very _interested in your mating rituals."

He sat up and finally kissed along her neck. "So?"

Fingers planted themselves on the buttons of her top and her breath shook, giving him what seemed like permission to continue. Skin freed itself and his mouth nipped at bits of skin until she groaned herself.

"Just for tonight," he said. It sounded desperate, like a promise that couldn't be fulfilled – even to his own ears – but their lips met and the two fell on the bed.

TBC


	6. A not so typical day on Betazed

A/N: Because it's taken so long to write the next chapter – bad Gammara! – I tried to make this extra long and a little more "R" than I had intended. Hopefully, I'm still dancing on the cliff of good taste! Sorry for the re-post, jumbled dialogue so that multiple speakers were on the same row.

---

Sunshine streamed through her window and she stretched, feeling the warmth on her skin, thinking of Vulcan and the hot twin suns that burned the sand every day of their year. It also made her think of her mating cycle, the fire rushing through her veins to scald her skin and the insanity that overtook her mind, crushing logic in its strangling grasp.

There was no such mind chaos now; she knew the difference between wrong and right.

And then an eyebrow sneaked up and she had the urge to sit up.

_Mating should only last five to seven days, _she thought.

Today was her eighth.

And yet the fever still trickled along her bones, much stronger than yesterday, begging for relief. Before she could muse further, lips met her neck and hands snuggled her to a warm, naked body – a hairy one.

"Good morning," said Jonathan. It was planted in her ear and instead of meant as cheery, seemed more licentious.

When he took the point of her ear in his teeth, she gasped. She particularly liked that spot to be nibbled, and knew he was aware of how it pleased her … as if his intention was to arouse her. As his tongue slid from her earlobe to the point and traveled back down again, she closed her eyes.

Friends and colleagues for eight years, she'd seen him in nearly every situation imaginable. The call of duty was always his first obligation, which is why he berated himself for the indiscretions – like when he satisfied her need in his Ready Room. This morning was crucial to the success of Earth/Betazed relations and would demand his full attention – a meeting that took place in less than two hours. And yet, she noticed his undivided concentration focused on her.

"Perhaps we should concentrate on the day ahead," she whispered.

His fingers pressed against her hip and his mouth caressed her throat. "Perhaps."

"We discussed last night was the end," she said.

By mating twice, at length and vigorously as the moonlight caressed their entwined bodies, she'd hypothesized whatever embers remained would be snuffed out entirely … and yet her skin ached for his touch.

He cursed in her ear, one she'd never heard him whisper and it made her turn to look at him; what she saw caused her to shiver. His eyes were molten, fevered, the pupil exploding past the rim of his iris and his skin – despite the cool air from the window – was slick.

"Something's wrong," she said.

Scooting his body next to hers, and then twisting so he was dominant – hovering above her – he smiled.

"Nothing's wrong."

A kiss interrupted her answer and despite the unVulcan-like worry, her mouth opened, sighing against the tongue that rolled along hers. Their fingers intertwined above her head until he broke away to roll his tongue along her neck, tracing down her body. Only after several minutes, her skin wet with his mouth, did she push him away.

"Did I do something to--?" he asked, lowering his body next to her.

"No, it was … pleasurable."

"Then--?"

"We have a meeting with the Betazoid, although I wonder if given the circumstances we should cancel and ask Dr. Phlox to examine us."

"Why?" he asked.

"Neither of us are in a state for Betazoid, empathic telepaths, to receive us."

He whispered in her ear, his fingers already touching her skin. "Why not?"

"Jonathan," she said. It was the first time she'd called him by his first name since two nights ago, and hung on her palette. As he beamed at her, she continued. "We are affected by Pon Farr or … there is something that is making us … anxious."

"T'Pol, men … human men … are normally aroused in the morning. It's natural."

"Yours is unnatural."

Squinting his eyes, watching her with confusion, he shook his head. "No–"

"You have been eager before, but I would say today you've been more than – shall I say - rambunctious."

He sighed, about to quibble.

She said, "If you analyze the situation, I'm sure you'll realize I'm correct. Only two days ago, you awoke and were afraid to kiss me."

Startled, his head snapped at the accusation, and yet he didn't have a retort.

"Our liaison has come to an end."

As if telling her he wanted her would dissuade her, he whispered it into her ear, his tongue lapping against the point and earlobe – both she found incredibly erotic. With shaky arms, she pushed herself away from the bed and on trembling legs walked to the bathroom that accompanied the room. She shut and locked the door – not because she feared he would enter, but because she would call to him as warm water cascaded over her skin and lather soaped against her flesh. Turning to the mirror, she nearly gasped. A small green circle formed at the base of her neck, near her collarbone. Because she was difficult to bruise, nearly impossible, she recognized the sucking from his mouth must've been savage. Intense.

_He was careless,_ she thought. And yet the idea that crept to her brain wasn't reproach, but lust. Her fingers smoothed over the planes of the dark green contusion – naked as she was – and she shivered at her motions.

_Perhaps it would be beneficial to allow Jonathan to enter. It may allow him better focus._

She unlatched the door and within seconds he joined her under the spray of the shower.

"Jonathan," she whispered.

His hand grabbed at the hair of her head and his lips devoured her mouth in a crushing kiss.

---

He emerged from the shower swiping a towel over his head, rubbing vigorously, as a lazy smile drifted across his face. After he'd finished and hung the material back on the rack, he gazed over at the running water and the silhouette of T'Pol's form barely visible through the screen of the door.

During T'Pol's Pon Farr, his eyes had attempted to train themselves to hers rather than linger over her body, dwelling on every curve of her female form. He'd decided that doing so would help them become friends after her mating cycle was over. There had also been a decision to prevent his tongue from sliding along her body, exploring her in a way that he'd done with nearly every other woman he'd ever made love to or using his fingers to excite her skin. Instead, his mouth stayed mostly on her face and throat – occasionally traipsing off elsewhere when she encouraged him – and his hands caressed her without lingering to fondle or pinch. This too, he thought, would allow them to go back to friendship more easily. And only once had he allowed himself to fully pleasure her, taking her from one climb to another without snuffing out her blood fever until the very end when he had reached his zenith as well.

Restraint had been his touchstone.

Last night and this morning, he'd broken every rule he'd established for himself, demolishing that touchstone. Destroying. Obliterating.

A sigh left his lips, and as soon as it did, he furrowed his brow. Leaving the confines of the bathroom, he looked around for his uniform hoping to don it in order to walk down the hall where his bags were located. But, in trying to find every stitch of clothing from the night before, he noticed his bag had appeared just inside the door as if his hostess knew he was here. There was a part of Archer that thought the sentiment was nice, and a larger part that believed it an intrusion of privacy.

Opening his duffle bag, he retrieved clean clothes and began to shuffle into them when he saw T'Pol emerge with a towel wrapped around her, hair dripping. A smile played on his lips glad to be able to look at her without feeling edgy. He'd been randy yesterday off and on, and uncontrollably so this morning; it was kind of a relief that those feelings of anxiousness were beginning to fade as he gained focus, thinking about the day ahead. He'd need it.

And that suddenly made him frown. Zipping up his uniform, he wondered what the hell had gotten into him; he tried (and succeeded in) seducing his first officer not just once, but several times over.

_We were satisfying her Pon Farr._ Sighing he shook his head. _I don't think so._

Watching her shimmy into her uniform, his eyes took in a long gaze dancing off every curve; although it shouldn't have, it caused him to smile. Walking over, he noted a bruise at her collarbone and traced over it with one finger and then two. She winced slightly, as if pained.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all right."

"No," he said, dropping his hand to his side. "No, it's not."

T'Pol blinked.

"I --" he said. His eyes stared directly into hers and he curled a lock of her wet hair in between his fingers, stamping out the need to press his lips to hers. "I was out of control."

"It was pleasurable."

"I shouldn't have stayed last night," he said. The words were difficult for him to say, and he looked away.

"And this morning?" she asked. A glance toward her let him see her eyebrow twitch.

"No, I shouldn't have stayed this morning either." Her lip protruded by millimeters, so he stroked her throat with two fingers as she closed her eyes. "But, I couldn't stay away. Yesterday and this morning … I've felt … out of control."

"I wanted you to stay …," she whispered. "And I too have felt a lack of control."

Just as he was going to lean in to kiss her, there was a knock on the door and the stared at each other, warmth rushing to his neck and cheeks. Archer answered the door slowly, as if his feet were weighed with iron, to see Telana's servant. He pointed to the stairs and gestured for them to come along. With one regretful look behind to T'Pol still not quite ready, Archer followed.

At the bottom of the stairs was Telana. She was beaming, dressed in what appeared to be a dress toga of sapphire, with a lighter blue ribbon streaming through her hair. Black eyes twinkled only for a moment.

"I see you took my advice," she said.

Archer halted in his tracks.

She laughed, "Although, I didn't need to be a telepath to know." 

He raised his eyebrows.

"I have decent hearing," she said.

Coughing, he kicked the marble tile below his feet. "Sorry about that."

Waving her hand, she disagreed. "It's been so long. My Imzadi died last year."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She nodded. "I've taken some time from being an ambassador to mourn him … your species is the first I've interacted with since his death. So, it is good to have you."

He still cringed inside, thinking she could hear them make love.

"Betazoid have no such hang ups about having sex. It's natural for people to do so, and it's natural to occasionally overhear another couple."

_Strange culture._

"I was about to say the same about yours," she said.

An apology was about to spill from his lips, when she smiled and shook her head. "What have I been telling you?"

"You're hard to offend."

"That's right," she said. As she pointed to a seat and breakfast was set before him by her servant, she put down her chopstick-like utensil. "You seem to have satisfied your need."

Embarrassed, he thought, _for now._

"When my husband and I had first met, we couldn't get enough of each other either. Seeing him naked at our wedding …."

There was a moment, when he felt like leveling with her and explaining he'd never felt this way before; he didn't even feel as lustful during her Pon Farr with her fingers raking through his hair, her cheeks dark green, emotion emblazoned in her eyes as she begged for him, her teeth gnashing at his skin and her legs squeezing around his middle as they headed for bliss. Hell, even in high school – hormones raging as girls walked through corridors in mini-skirts, cheerleading outfits and tight sweaters – he didn't feel as worked up. T'Pol was right, this was spinning so far out of control that it seemed dangerous.

Telana asked, "Is control important to you?"

"What?" he asked. Crimson rose to his cheeks.

"I asked if control is important to you," she said. She poured him a glass of something that reminded him of cranberry juice. "Why is control important to you?"

"I'm on a mission to represent my people and--"

"And to represent them you can't have sex?"

"No, but it's against my people's code to do so with a junior officer, one that reports to you," he said.

She sighed, and after partaking in a long sip of her juice turned to him. "It seems she needed your help, and still does."

A frown spread over his lips.

She said, "I know how you feel. And I'm sure the other Betazoid people will as well."

"You're right," he said. "I'll leave first thing--"

"Nonsense. Perhaps we can merely postpone the encounter. In the meantime," she said, smiling, "you are my guests."

There was more to be said, but T'Pol wandered down the stairs and his attention immediately went to her, losing track of exactly what he and Telana were discussing. Somehow, he managed to eat what he assumed was the Betazoid version of a breakfast, nibbling at it without hunger as his host talked about her planet. A few hours later (when breakfast was over), they all took a stroll in the garden – a lush one, with flowers in virtually every color imaginable. The most impressive were the ones with fire red petals and delicate green shoots headed toward the sky, towering over them, as well as pink dots spreading below them on blue-colored grass. Trees of all varieties grew and on them hung potted plants in sunshine yellow, tangerine orange and lime. During their walk, Telana prodded the captain with more questions as she called out flower names by the scores. Statues lined the pathways – mostly women with long, flowing hair apparently mythical creatures that reminded Archer of Greek or Roman ones. Their nakedness made him think of T'Pol's and he was glad their guide ignored the thought; instead, she stopped in front of one statue and closed her eyes, murmuring that this was the one of lost love. It was then the woman excused herself, declaring she had something to attend to and the moment Archer found his lips suddenly on his first officer's.

Every kiss warned him that they shouldn't be doing this, and yet each reminded him that he wanted more. Recklessly, both of them had allowed their hands to wander, uncaring about the display they must be putting on.

"I want you," he whispered.

Eyes blinking, she nodded. "Yes."

Without thought, he started to unzip her uniform as he suckled her neck hard remembering how delightful it was to do that last night when they became a torrent of motion and desire.

Her hand stopped his progress and though he could see lust in her eyes, she spoke with amazing stoicism.

"You'd take me here?" she asked.

"No," he said. _Yes,_ he thought.

"I would've let you." Concern drifted into her eyes, displacing the hunger.

"_Would've_?" he asked.

"Something is terribly wrong."

Despite secretly agreeing, he was about to try and convince her everything was so right when she unhitched her scanner and waved it over him and then herself.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Your hormone levels are elevated, but … not outside the norm. My hormone levels are also elevated, and yet they are within normal parameters for a Vulcan leaving Pon Farr."

Rather than appear relieved, she seemed disappointed and without further comment walked to a nearby bench to sit down. Furrowing his brows, still feeling the drum of yearning increase his heartbeat, he headed after her and sat by her side.

"The lack of control concerns me … greatly," she said.

"You're still in Pon Farr," he said.

"No." Her eyes meandered to his and she shook her head. "I feel reason and logic. And yet, there is still primal … carnal desire. This has nothing to do with my mating cycle."

Those words caused him to lick his lips. "Humans want this way," he said. The minute he'd said it, he knew it was a lie.

"Jonathan, it is not the way Vulcans want."

"Maybe our feelings are causing this," he said.

"Feelings?" she asked, as if she had none.

Archer closed his eyes and bent his head. After taking one long swallow, he finally decided to face her. "Yes - feelings. At least my feelings."

Brown eyes stared, perplexed.

He agreed, "It's confusing."

She remained silent.

He said, "Helping you in Pon Farr, T'Pol …. I think …." He sighed. "I can't tell if I'm falling in love with you or fell a while ago."

Frowning, he explained at one time – maybe even during their travels in the Expanse – he'd loved her. He'd become aware of her involvement with Trip and had realized the emotions he had for her had been inappropriate anyway and pushed them aside. Scratching his head, he also told her that he hadn't volunteered to assist her in Pon Farr because of these feelings, but wonder if they managed to surface because he enjoyed being intimate with her. It wasn't just the sex; the two connected. They'd discussed topics near and dear to his heart where he'd revealed himself to her.

He admitted that experiencing Pon Farr with her had been wonderful – even the aching back, clawed skin and bruises. Sure, the first two days were rough, he reasoned, but they quickly came and went, leaving every other day: ecstasy. He even told her of his selfishness especially in the Ready Room, wanting to draw out what he supposed would be their last time.

At the end of his account, his eyes diverted to his lap so that his frown could deepen. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come to you last night. I shouldn't still feel this way. I shouldn't even be telling you this. I'm your captain. I'm not sure what to do, but --"

A kiss interrupted him. Then several kisses followed.

---

By the time their rendezvous ended, afternoon painted twilight into the night sky. Unlike Vulcan, deep pinks emblazoned above, turning everything in her field of vision aglow. Removing the last of the leaves from her hair, she watched Archer zip up his uniform, almost wishing he hadn't. The want, the one she attempted to extinguishment several times in the garden, still nipped at her control. 

_I must meditate tonight. No, I must meditate right away._

She almost displayed a frown. _The Jonathan Archer I know would never be so careless as to engage in sex like this. _I _would never be so imprudent. _

Looking behind her, toward the house, she wondered if the trees sheltered them from its view, protecting them from anyone seeing how they'd put their lips all over each other's bodies -- teasing and taunting as much as satisfying.

As if he had the same thought, he came up behind her.

"I don't think anyone saw us," he said.

"Our lack of discretion," she whispered to him, letting the sentence hang without end. "We should return to the ship and allow Phlox to examine us."

His lips opened to provide her an answer, when T'Pol heard someone approach: Telana, their host, appeared into view with a smile on her lips. For a second, the Vulcan wondered if the woman had been in the garden all day and had spied on them.

"You two were here all day?" asked Telana.

"The gardens are beautiful," said Jonathan.

Telana, thankfully, didn't respond to why he found them so captivating and the three headed to the house. As they walked, the captain explained what a terrible houseguest he'd been when Telana placed her hand on his shoulder, halting.

"It's been good to spend time with people," she said. "And you have been good enough to leave me some time alone as well."

Although T'Pol knew it would be considered rude, she felt obligated to make her request to see Dr. Phlox again. "I believe the captain and I should see a doctor."

"Why?" asked Telana. With a laugh, she waved her hand in front of her. "He thinks you're worried about your coupling this afternoon."

The Vulcan's eyes slid over to him, to watch him blush at the comment, and then back to Telana.

"I am concerned," she said.

"You're worried because you engaged with him … in nature?" she asked. "To the Betazed people, there is nothing more beautiful."

"Neither the captain or I would ever lack so much discretion."

Telana continued walking toward the house. "He's wanted to lack discretion that way for a while. Really, Jonathan, you have a vivid imagination … just like my late husband."

T'Pol's lips tugged downward by centimeters. "Still," the Vulcan said, "I believe we should return to the ship."

Walking onto the terrace, the woman turned and nodded. "I would never prevent you from receiving medical attention. If you are more comfortable with your own physician, by all means you should return."

Jonathan gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry that we've been so much trouble."

She disagreed, "Not at all. And, when you are well, I hope you return."

Archer nodded, commenting that he'd still like to meet with her and the other diplomats, indicating perhaps they could keep their appointment tomorrow.

"Of course," she answered.

With that, T'Pol and he collected their belongings – after both trying desperately to avoid another interlude together – and headed back for their shuttlepod. When they had climbed aboard, she noticed for the first time in a while, she felt closer to what she expected was normal. A deep cleansing breath blew out as the pod lifted from the ground and streamed back to Enterprise.

----

Phlox didn't hold them in Decon, a notion that caused T'Pol's brows to knit. Somehow, she'd decided she and her captain had been infected with something that made them want to rip each other's clothes off nearly every minute of the day. Looking at the captain now, she realized although the emotions she felt were confusing, there was no longer than burning hunger like earlier in the day when she pushed him to the soft grass in the garden. His eyes dodged hers, and she believed for a minute he felt the same.

After they arrived at Sickbay, Phlox asked her to lie on a bio-bed – indicating it'd be easier to treat them one at a time. Every single reading appeared to be normal.

"What makes you believe something's wrong?" he asked. "Have you had any symptoms?"

She wasn't prepared to answer this, and apparently neither was Jonathan.

"I have experienced," she said after some time, "what I would consider lingering affects of Pon Farr."

Phlox asked, "Lingering affects?"

"Yes."

"I think that's to be expected," he replied. When disappointment smacked in her eye, his voice lost its glee. "I'm sorry, I haven't seen anything out of ordinary. Perhaps if you ask Commander Tucker to assist you again--"

She avoided his gaze when she heard the captain comment. "I was her partner, and I've been having the same symptoms."

"I didn't realize," he said. "I'm sorry--"

"It's okay," said Archer.

T'Pol knew Phlox wasn't one to let uncomfortable silence settle, and he proceeded as if the news was as common place as telling someone they had a headache.

Phlox asked, "And have those symptoms continued here?"

Archer's eyes met T'Pol's and then glanced away quickly. "They're not as strong."

T'Pol pushed herself from the bio-bed and watched Archer lower himself to it to undergo the same tests. Each one, just as hers, came out as normal as possible. Even his blood pressure wasn't too far amiss from the physical he'd had less than a year ago.

"Could it have been the air on the planet?" asked Archer.

"I presume it's possible," said Phlox.

"Unlikely," said T'Pol. "My people have never experienced this."

"What about something from the garden," said Archer.

"We were only in the garden this afternoon," she replied. When she mentioned it, her cheeks flushed as did his.

"I have your blood samples," said Phlox. "Perhaps I can run an analysis to determine possible effects."

T'Pol said, "If you need help--"

"I'll be sure and let you know," he said, his face giving way to an overextended grin.

As she approached the door, Archer at her side, she heard the Denobulan say one more thing, so hushed she almost missed it.

"I'll keep what you shared confidential," he said.

T'Pol held her breath, but her superior officer mumbled a thanks before the doors swished behind them. Awkwardly, the two wound down one corridor after another – silence erupting between them. It wasn't until they both ended up in front of her cabin door that she realized where they were headed; in a way, she assumed they would go back to the Bridge together.

He glanced one way down the hall to the other before asking if he could come in for a minute to talk. So, the two entered – even though talking about their experience was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I'm sorry I told Phlox," he said. Pain evident in his eyes, his hand hung in mid-air as if he was trying to make up his mind to touch her cheek.

"You had no choice," she said.

His hand fell to his side and his head bowed to his chest. "I said a lot of things to you--"

Sitting on the bed, she bobbed her head in agreement, cutting him off. "When you first offered to assist me, I was concerned it would affect your emotions."

The trademark furrow crossed his features and he sat down next to her. "Back on the planet, I got the idea you felt the same way."

Thinking back to the planet and the moment, she felt her eyes drift closed.

_Skin afire, burning with an ache to be touched, she listened to him confess everything – even information that surprised her. Although she considered the two of them to be close friends, she had never recognized that he once loved her. Even as he described what that was like now, love, she almost didn't believe him._

_He'd told her that he wouldn't fall in love with her, assured her of that. And yet, the words sounded so beautiful spilling from his lips – they held such confusion, hope and determination. Jonathan even expressed apprehension at allowing himself to be in love with someone who reported to him; it's what prevented him from telling her more than five years ago. _

_It caused her kiss him and then seduce him._

"You mentioned confusion; I too am perplexed," she said finally. The sadness in his eyes and the way his chin fell forced her to continue. "My Pon Farr was not without … pleasure. You were tender, much more so than any Vulcan man would be."

He didn't look up, so she admitted, "I gave into you without the urge to mate … like when we discussed _Great Expectations_ in my bed."

The man beside remained quiet and still. She said, "Our experience on the planet has complicated matters greatly." And then logically she asked, as if to protect her own emotions, "How do you know the passion there didn't prompt you to tell me those things?"

He didn't answer, but instead pushed himself from her side to stand. "Assuming Phlox finds nothing wrong with me, I'm going to return to the planet tomorrow."

"I don't believe that is wise."

"I have an appointment with Telana and the other diplomats, one that I think would benefit Starfleet." He sighed. "Maybe Phlox can at least provide something for me to take the edge off."

He was getting the wrong idea -- she'd said she felt confused; she wasn't rejecting him.

"Jonathan--"

"You don't need to worry. I'll ask Trip to tag along this time." He nudged the deck plating with his boot nervously. "Should give us a break from each other and would make the mission more successful."

With that, he left and she looked at the closed door with forlorn, pondering the idea she had probably made a colossal mistake by revealing she had doubts. Taking a break wasn't what she wanted; she needed time to determine whether there was more between them, emotion that hadn't emerged because of how they felt on the planet.

Still, she reasoned, there was meditation to engage in and it wouldn't hurt to retire early; last night she'd received very little sleep. Legs folded under her, she lit a candle and attempted to think about oblivion.

---

_That wasn't exactly a no, and it wasn't exactly a yes._

If Archer could've punched a wall without breaking his hand or having a crewmen think he'd lost his marbles, he would've. Feeling betrayed – having told her everything, believing she returned it – and like a betrayer – having promised he wouldn't try to introduce a relationship -- left him frustrated and tired. Telana told him that she returned his feelings, really the only reason he thought to confess them to her.

_Maybe she just needs time,_ he thought. _God, so do I._

The idea halted him in his tracks. As her captain, he couldn't engage in a relationship with her anyway – his personal ethics and the Starfleet code of conduct he'd agreed to abide by said so.

_She just did you a favor._

Eyes too tired to run out the irritation and confusion that bubbled within him, he made his way back to his quarters, contacted Trip about leaving with him tomorrow morning for the planet and then got ready for bed.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he thought about T'Pol last night and staying up with her until the wee hours. Instead of wearing sweat, sick with desire, she'd glowed with light perspiration and stoicism, letting him know she had her faculties about her. It made their union, to him, all the more thrilling. She hadn't begged him for more, her voice teeming with emotion, instead she'd quietly encouraged further encounters by spreading her fingers over his skin in the Vulcan kiss. And to reward her, he'd allowed his mouth to wander anywhere on her body it had ached to visit. His tongue had followed suit, swirling against every inch of her, delighting in the barely audible whimpers that escaped her mouth.

_He could do this to her all night, love her like this. Admitting only to himself, he knew he could've loved her like this when she was in Pon Farr, too. He'd wanted to, in a way. From the third day of their coupling, he wanted to press his mouth to various parts of her skin – any bit of flesh below the collarbone. Gentlemanly, he didn't though, believing it would somehow violate the agreement they'd already reached. Now, he didn't have to follow any rules; she gave herself to him, and freely. And so he took advantage to lick every inch of her, even the most private of places. _

"_Remember when you told me I tasted like tears," he whispered. _

"_Yes."_

"_You taste like desire."_

His eyes flashed open and he turned his head to the clock near on his nightstand.

"Oh-one-hundred," he said. "Figures."

Staring at the ceiling, he hoped sleep would eventually come. It didn't.

----

The chants she'd been using hadn't been effective to reach the nothingness she sought. Instead, the windows of her mind forced her to replay events from last night, this morning and this afternoon. Each of those times didn't resemble the chaos that Pon Farr reaped; there had been amazing order. Almost like playing a human chess game, she'd selected tactics to bring the two of them more pleasure – sometimes boldly touching him and sometimes permitting her mouth, tongue, teeth and fingers to mimic the motions he used to caress her skin; she darted and flicked her tongue against his flesh.

If Pon Farr had been a pleasurable experience, despite some trouble remembering the first two days, then the times they'd reached mutual gratification on Betazed had been pure bliss.

_The shower ran and he entered it, soaping her flesh with his hands as they kissed under the spray. Kisses turned from seductive to wanton and he shoved her so that her back was pressed against the ornate tile. Teeth fled to her neck and ears, nibbling while closed her eyes in contentment. His muscles were hard, all of them, and she enjoyed the feel of them underneath her hands, massaging them with soap as he fondled her. Soon his hands wandered her body, adoring more flesh, and his lips pressed against her ear as he whispered what he wanted to do to her in enough detail to send a tingle through her belly. _

_And so they mated. Instead of becoming satiated after they were complete, she only grew hungrier for him. _

"_I need to get ready," he said to her. _

_Instead of leaving the shower though, he kissed her once more. When they parted, she found words tumbling from her mouth that she hadn't expected. _

"_While I was in the blood fever, I …." She gulped. "This has been a fantasy for me."_

"_You want me again?"_

"_Yes," she admitted. _

_His lips found hers again and his hand traced down her curves._

"_I think I can oblige."_

Standing in one graceful swoop, she thought of green eyes staring at her in sadness, imploring her to say she had feelings. Sighing, she reminded herself she had been honest with him, and that truthfulness was best for their relationship – whether they decided to transform it into one or romance or continue being friends. Stretching out, she closed her eyes; truthfulness, the word, rang in her ears as she dreamlessly slept.

Morning came earlier than she anticipated and after getting ready for work, she found her fingers tapping the intercom to talk with Trip.

"Commander Tucker, I will accompany the captain to Betazed," she said.

"But, the Cap'n said last night--"

"I know," she said. Raising an eyebrow, she refrained from lying and kept the order simple figuring Trip might infer the captain had changed his mind.

"He said you weren't feeling well enough for the journey," said Trip. "That I should provide you the--"

"My physical health has improved."

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yes."

Ending the communication, she sat on her bed and thought about the consequences of what she'd done – not disobeyed an order, but volunteering to accompany him. She folded her hands together, knowing she had to tell him her feelings.

---

The shuttlepod was prepped and Archer glanced at his chronometer before noticing T'Pol heading toward him.

"Good morning," he said. He didn't believe it was, even after slurping down two cups of coffee, but wanted to be civil. "Seen Trip?"

"Not this morning."

"I assume he provided you a download of the duty roster."

"No, he hasn't."

"I asked him to--"

"I indicated I would accompany you."

Eyebrows nearly shooting from his brow, he shook his head vehemently. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"I gave you an order, T'Pol, and I expect--"

"I retrieved a dosage from Phlox that should – as you said – take the edge off," she said. "I am your first officer and they have met the Vulcans before. I can help smooth the way in your negotiations."

Taking her arm gingerly, he moved from the corridor, through the launch bay and stepped into the shuttle, closing the door to disagree with her.

"I'm not asking you to stay behind to punish you," he said. "We've both expressed confusion about how we feel. It'd be easier on me, both of us, if you didn't tag along. I can stay focused on the task at hand."

"I am no longer perplexed," she whispered. Bowing her head, she whispered something so quietly he had to ask her to repeat it.

"I … I know I have feelings for you as well," she said. "I contemplated you ... us last night as I meditated. You would not leave my thoughts. I am not burned by fever, but I reminisced how our bodies intertwined."

"What about believing whatever affected me on the planet made me say those things?" he asked.

Her eyes hit his. "I felt it was worth telling you my emotions, even if that proves to be true."

A hand cupped her cheek. "I still don't think you should go."

"You know my logic is sound. I can provide assistance; the Betazoid like the Vulcans. You need me."

Checking the chronometer of the shuttle, they didn't have much time to continue to argue, and he figured she had a point – it's why he asked her to accompany him in the first place. Giving a single nod, he climbed into the pilot's seat, reached into his bag and shot a hypo in his neck to prevent his libido, this time, from going into hyperdrive. With relief, he heard a similar hypo shoot into her neck.

TBC

A/N: Some of you may feel like, "What, they didn't get to question their feelings very long!" I can understand. This isn't one of those stories though, and in a way I feel badly about pulling that out. I had to create a little drama, making you wonder if she'd return to the planet. (You knew she would!)


	7. How not to impress a diplomat

Archer had a lot to talk about with T'Pol as they traveled in the shuttlecraft alone to Betazed again, but it was hardly the time or the place. He'd told himself years ago when he first recognized desire and love for his first officer that he wouldn't allow it to get in the way of their professional relationship or Enterprise's mission. His professional relationship and the mission, he reminded himself, were of paramount importance. What T'Pol and he had confessed to each other were definitely kinks in the platonic framework he'd created, and they were far too complex to work out in one shuttle ride, right before an important meeting with potential allies. This issue involved unwinding years of friendship mixed with deeper emotions, jealousy over Trip and him assisting her in Pon Farr in order to help a friend survive.

T'Pol must've sensed it too, because she contributed to small talk, a pastime Archer knew she found displeasing.

The chitchat was unsubstantial and though his body buzzed with anxiety over this dilemma, he ignored it to focus on the task at hand thankful it hadn't been his aching libido. Glancing at his science officer from time-to-time – catching her eye, he noticed she was the picture of serenity. Sweat didn't drip from her forehead and her cheeks didn't flush jade with desire.

_So far, so good._

When the shuttlecraft landed, Telana met them there – a grin spreading across her face. As Archer descended the stairs, his stomach tingled at seeing the planet again, setting his feet on the ground and smelling the fresh air; he also had to confess he enjoyed seeing her again – this woman was a sincere hostess. Sweet and earnest hosts were typically unique to first contacts, especially to him, and she'd rolled out the welcome mat.

"It's good to see you, too," she said, calling out.

Jon glanced over his shoulder and saw T'Pol following stoically behind him.

"I trust your physician was able to help you?" asked Telana.

"He did. Thank you," said Archer.

Her smile blossomed further. "I should've warned you that Betazed was named after the goddess of love, Jonathan. You'd be surprised how many times aliens have been caught under the planet's spell."

A lopsided smile struck his face and he glanced momentarily to his first officer.

Walking toward her house again, Archer listened to her discuss the people he would meet in the diplomatic city of the planet. He'd heard the names and their traits before, and even re-read them last night, but appreciated a refresher. When it came to diplomacy these days, he believed he could never be over-prepared.

"I believe in over-preparing," she said, nodding. "It seems you're ready. We can leave at anytime."

His lips twitched into a smile. "No time like the present I suppose."

They hopped into her flitter, a craft smaller than a shuttlepod and steered by her ever-silent servant that towered over them. As soon as they entered the vehicle, Telana righted the dark, ancient Greek-like ringlets that fell about her face and fretted with her pink tunic. Jon noticed she was primping.

"It's been some time since I've seen these people," she said as if to explain her vanity. "I want them to still be impressed from a daughter who holds the Sacred Chalice of Rixx."

Traveling quickly, passing more modest homes than the one Telana owned, they reached the outskirts of what appeared a metropolis marked by a female statue in a tunic standing hundreds of feet into the air welcoming them. Her marble-looking face was comely and yet authoritative as she pointed to the city.

Jon pressed his face against the window to take in the sights – gold, silver and other precious metals gleamed under the rays of the sun. Flitters cars by the thousands hovered in the air, zipping by -- some heading toward the city, and some away. Trains, mass transportation, floated in the air sticking to unknown traffic patterns. Millions of dwellings, fountains, courtyards, parks and gardens covered the city, adding such richness and livability. This wasn't just a city used for commerce, Jon decided, but a place where people truly lived and thrived. Sustainable. Of all the urban areas he'd seen from every world, this was his favorite … maybe even more beautiful than New York City, Washington D.C., San Francisco or any other Earthen town. When an awe-inspired grin crossed his lips, Telana reached over and grabbed his arm.

"I'm glad you think it's as lovely as we do," she said.

"I have never been to Saben," said T'Pol, gazing out the window. "It's aesthetically pleasing."

"Was the statue we passed named after someone?" he asked.

"Saben, she is the Daughter of the First House whom the city is named after," said Telana. "Besides helping to found this city, she ended a fashion trend of women wearing caged animals on their heads. Little did she know her activism would save animals from being eaten or slaughtered even today."

Archer squinted trying to figure out exactly how to put that into context when Telana pointed to a white building, one that looked like it was made of limestone.

"That is the Diplomatic branch of our government where we'll be today," she said.

The flitter soon landed and Telana thanked her servant before gallantly sauntering out of the shuttle, as if she owned the land she walked on. Archer turned back toward T'Pol who caught up with him.

"The ones in the diplomatic branch are the most susceptible to thoughts and emotions," said T'Pol.

"I remember." Nodding, he continued forward. "Why, are you--?" He searched for the appropriate word for frisky, but fell short. Luckily, T'Pol knew what he'd intended to say.

"No. I'm well," she said.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Remind me to thank Dr. Phlox when we get back to Enterprise."

"Indeed," she said.

Telana, after walking up a series of steps, finally stopped in front of a short, pudgy man who'd lost the majority of his hair. She'd described him well, although had been more than generous of his physical appearance; he was the leader of the group – Oron.

Archer ascended the steps, T'Pol beside him, and stopped in front of Oron with an extended hand.

"I'm Captain Jonathan Archer of the--"

Oron interrupted, "Welcome Captain Archer of Enterprise, my name is Oron Ria-Flavius."

"This is my--"

"Commander T'Pol, welcome to Saben," said Oron.

She nodded and said, "Your city is quite pleasing."

"High praise from a Vulcan," he said. By the sparkle in his eye, he knew that rather than be sarcastic, the man actually meant it.

_Maybe these are the only people the Vulcans actually established a good relationship with right from the start, _thought Archer

"I wouldn't say right from the start, Captain," said Oron. "There were a few misunderstandings at the beginning – once we learned that they didn't appreciate us reading their thoughts. But relations quickly recovered and they have become a trusted ally."

_I can imagine the Vulcans _didn't _appreciate their thoughts being read._

Oron smiled. "I'm sorry, Captain. Telana indicated you didn't mind having your thoughts available to us."

"It's not that I mind, I'm just … always surprised by it," said Jon.

Oron said, "And yet I know you are a private man. Let me know when I have overstepped my bounds."

"I will," he said.

Oron grabbed at his white robe with red trim, looking like a man from the Roman senate of yore, and headed up the remaining stairs into the building. Once inside Archer's mouth dropped. If Jon was impressed by the exterior, he was overwhelmed by the opulent interior. A holographic display twirled an emblem, probably what was the planet's symbol, in the middle of the corridor. What looked like mosaic tiles, inlaid with shimmering ruby-colored chips lined the hallways. Friendly people with dilated eyes passed by, nodding and grinning, as Oron led them into a chamber behind an ornate door with the face of another woman carved into it.

"Who is that?" asked Archer. The face looked familiar.

Oron's eyes slid over to Telana. "Your host," he said.

"That's you, Telana?" asked Jon.

"I was much younger at the time," she said. Nervously, she wrapped her finger around a curl. "It is to commemorate my years of service."

"She's being modest. She served here for nearly fifty years as one of our most trusted diplomats," said Oron.

Telana pushed her hand into the air, playfully scolding. "You make me sound so old."

"Not at all." Oron added, "It's nice to have you back."

"It's nice to _be _back."

They entered the room – not at all like a stateroom, one where people would sign treaties or make speeches, this room looked like a cozy version of the Mess Hall. Machines that looked like they would dispense beverages and small plates with snacks on them lined the room, over-stuffed chairs filled the hall and a small fire presented the best setting he'd remembered for first contact … other than Telana's house.

"Thank you," said Oron. "Telana suggested you might like this."

Two other women introduced themselves: a tall, brunette draped in a turquoise toga named Arayna Selani and a short, perky young woman with light brown hair and eyes the size of saucers named Gaya Mirin. Gaya pulled a large gong toward them and rang it several times before they sat down. Telana's servant, who Archer hadn't realized was even in the room, served food and drink mutely.

Oron pointed to the glass. "This drink is called ilir."

"I think you'll enjoy it, Jonathan, it's a favorite of mine," said Telana.

When Archer put the glass to his lips, sipping only once, he glanced at T'Pol. The moment he did, his heart pounded a little harder and his eyes followed the curve of her lips as she spoke. What she said, he couldn't be sure. And although his mind tuned out her words, he didn't feel the burning desire he'd encountered yesterday. Instead it felt as if he were just admiring a beautiful woman.

"Do you like it, Jonathan?" asked Gaya.

"Huh?" he asked.

The young woman giggled and he felt his face flush. "Yes," he said, recovering as quickly as possible, "it's delicious. Tastes a little like … butterscotch."

"Butterscotch. Interesting." Oron said, "It's the lix root that gives it that taste. Telana when she worked here insisted on having it every morning."

"At least humans aren't the only ones who have habits," said Archer, a smile sliding across his face.

"You humans seem to have a lot in common with us," said Gaya. "I find your species thus far … adorable."

There were a lot of words he'd heard to describe his species – never adorable.

Oron grinned as well. "Captain, it seems your species and ours are well matched. Thanks to the Vulcans, we've studied your race for sometime from afar and have anxiously awaited the day one of you would arrive and initiate first contact."

Jon felt like pinching himself to make sure this first encounter wasn't just some fantastic dream.

"Your other first contacts have not gone as well?" asked Oron.

Archer looked over at T'Pol to conspire about their past misfortune. "Not really."

His first officer, dragged her hand nonchalantly along her face. Maybe the Betazoid wouldn't know it was atypical behavior, but he did. Focusing on her, he noticed she'd dislodged a small bead of sweat as it cascaded from her temple down to her chin. And suddenly, he felt his own temperature rise.

Oron said, "Well, we're pleased to have you. From our history, we can recall the first time we met other races. They weren't always successful, like when we first ran into the Klingons. Let's just say they aren't exactly as peaceful as we."

The words began to fade into the background as he felt T'Pol next to him, hearing her pant with desire, and his blood pressure skyrocketed in response. Clearly, he thought, the medicine wasn't working. The antidote Phlox had given, one they'd injected themselves with this morning, should've worked for well into tomorrow.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, losing all concentration on what the Betazoid people were saying, he saw her. Flushed green, her skin glowed as if aching for his touch. Hair dampening around her temples, she shivered for a moment. Maybe she was able to control the urges, but suddenly he had the supreme desire to slip out to some hidden room and make love to her. The pace would be fast and furious until the need could be driven out.

Wetting his lips, he saw her turn to him.

"I would like that as well," she said.

"What?" Jon asked.

She started and then nodded to their hosts. "They indicated they would like a break. I would like one as well."

Nodding, he didn't wait for formalities to slip off and head for the nearest bathroom. Down a hallway, he found his pace increase – his feet tapping harder against the tile floor – until he reached it. Gleaming in the same white as the other building, he didn't even notice the type of toiletries. He immediately shut the door, reached into the pocked of his left sleeve, retrieved the hypo of medicine Phlox had provided them in case they stayed for another few days and shot it into neck.

The site burned for a few moments, but he didn't feel the relief yesterday or even this morning. Instead, he felt the desire grow stronger. Fumbling for his communicator, he opened it quickly and asked for Phlox – his voice hoarse.

The cheery Denobulan piped up and Archer nearly growled, skipping his normal formalities.

"It's not working," said Jon.

"What's not working, Captain?"

"What you gave us," he said. "The remedy for the lingering affects of Pon Farr."

"That's impossible." After a few seconds of silence the doctor said, "Perhaps you should inject yourself with another--"

"I did. It's not working either."

He must've stunned the doctor because the man grew completely quiet. Waiting for a full minute before speaking, Archer eventually scowled at his communicator.

"Phlox?"

"I don't understand," confessed Phlox.

And then there was a knock on the door. Absurdly, he closed the communicator – even without signing off – and opened the door, attempting to determine what excuse he could give for practically running down the hall and for staying in the restroom so long.

But when the door opened apologies fled his mind. T'Pol, sweat-soaked, pushed him back into the room and closed and locked the door behind her.

Their mouths – the first time that day – met and as her lips pressed against his he felt like their bodies had been apart for centuries. His brain screamed at him to stop, but he found his fingers already working to shed her clothes and his tongue plunging in between her lips.

His communicator chirped and she coolly retrieved it just long enough to tell a concerned Dr. Phlox they were fine; it even sounded somewhat convincing. Jon had wanted to deny her words, but instead found his lips chasing up her neck and to her ears losing track of what exactly had been said.

When the communicator closed, she gazed at him.

"We only have a few minutes," she said when they separated. "They'll look for us soon."

Understanding the comment, he didn't think he could hold out for long anyway -- the want causing sweat to drip from his skin and his clothes growing ridiculously tight around his hips.

----

Within thirty minutes, they were both back in their seats. Although T'Pol felt relief spread along her body, along with it came the desire for more. It filled her mouth with saliva and darkened her eyes further. She saw Archer attempt to keep his concentration, his hands in his lap and his knuckles turning white.

_He might be having the same difficulty._

Telana sat across from them right away, a frown on her face and the other Betazoids joined her. Oron seemed to narrow his eyes while he watched Archer and the captain, she noticed, attempted to feign ignorance over their disapproval and provided a sheepish smile.

"Sorry for the delay," he said.

"I think we should end the discussion for the day," said Oron, his eyes on Telana's.

Archer shook his head. "We don't have to."

The other diplomats stood and walked out as Oron stared at Telana and then at Archer.

Oron said, "We should not carry on discussion."

T'Pol almost spoke up, confessing that it was her fault; she'd stalked Jonathan, lust pushing out all rational thought. But, as she opened her mouth, Archer hung his head and whispered.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

With that Oron marched out, leaving Telana watching them. The woman shook her head after staring at them for a long time. Jonathan ducked her eyes, his humiliation clear as crimson rose to his cheeks.

She said, "I'm disappointed."

"I am, too," he said.

Telana's eyes then fled to T'Pol and the Vulcan felt her face flush as well.

"The medicine we've been given--" said T'Pol. "It's not working."

Telana nodded. "That much is obvious."

A beep rang in Archer's arm and he retrieved it, his voice still hoarse. "Archer."

"Captain, it's Trip. Everything all right? Phlox said T'Pol contacted him and --"

"Yeah, T'Pol and I are fine. I'll contact you in a few moments. Archer out."

When the communicator closed, Telana leaned in. "You've tried it your way, now we should try mine. I'd like my doctor to see you."

Archer disagreed. "You've already been more than generous to us."

"If you'd like to stay on Betazoid and negotiate, this might be the only way – Betazoid physicians, no offense to your doctor, are more skilled. Besides, I have the feeling if you return to your ship, you and your officer won't exactly have the luxury of what you just did a moment ago."

There were many reasons to agree – the lust was swelling within her again and even logic dictated that they determine the cause using what Vulcans considered a scientific method – research. The only field research they could conduct was to stay and take a calculated risk.

"I don't—" started Archer.

"Perhaps Telana's argument has merits. We were unaffected on the ship, but here …. It may be wise to stay," said T'Pol.

His hand cupped her cheek and his eyes narrowed, what she recognized was desire building between the two of them.

Jonathan said, "I don't think it's such a good idea." Pausing only for a minute, a hand dodged to his hair to grab it in frustration. "Think? It's impossible to think."

Telana intervened and then urged them to go back to her flitter and the house. Barely able to control the passion T'Pol felt, especially watching her paramour and captain fight his urges, she followed their hostess as she wound through the corridors and to the shuttle pad.

T'Pol had been impressed with the vistas on the way to the capitol, but now concentrated on Jonathan's every breath – stuttered though it was – and studied his body. It was easy to affirm he was aroused again, and closing her eyes, she could almost feel his body begging for her again.

Almost all thought left when they arrived at Telana. The woman said a few words, indicating there room was upstairs. Without a second thought, her captain picked her up and swung her into his arms, even in front of their hostess, and carried her up the stairs.

-------

Archer's eyes opened.

They made it back to the same room as before, and on their arrival, the captain nearly sank to his knees in want. All he could hear, see, taste, smell and sense was visions of T'Pol opening to him like she did the third day he assisted her in Pon Farr.

_He hadn't used restraints, but he should've. His body was sore and angry – bruises, cuts delivered by nails and teeth, a slightly swollen lip when she tackled him to the ground before shredding his clothes and an aching back. Volunteering for this task to save his friend to satisfy her need was all he really expected. So, when he stepped into her cabin, he hesitated – waiting for the moment she would appear from nowhere, sniff his neck and then throw him to the floor or bed. _

_She didn't. _

_Appearing from her bathroom, draped in a flimsy, satin robe that hugged her curves, she sauntered up to him and let her two fingers wander his neck and chin. _

"_The most urgent fever is gone," she whispered, her breath against his neck._

_Looking down, her eyes were wide – vulnerable and yet seductive – and the sweat glowed like sheen on her flesh. Even without seeing her naked, he suddenly became aroused._

"_Our time together today should be more … pleasant," she said. _

_And then she kissed him – her mouth open and tongue ready to accept his. One kiss transformed into two and then ten and he found himself backing her up to the bed. Her fingers caressed his uniform, to tease him into further arousal, and then wrapped around his zipper to free him of clothing without ripping as she had done the day before. Once naked for her, he blushed crimson as he felt her hands wandering his skin to touch parts that she'd only fondled to reach gratification. Almost as if she appreciated his body, her eyes turned up to him. _

"_You're lean and yet muscular," she said. _

_Her fingers fell over his shoulders, arms and stomach, and he closed his eyes at the caress. It had been so long since a woman touched him so, merely to enjoy his body. His masculinity reveled in her touch, and for the first time in a long time he'd felt like more than just a captain. He felt like a man._

_Lowering his head to stare into her eyes, his green orbs filled with confusion, she explained herself._

"_I haven't had the opportunity to tell you yet," she whispered. "The madness prevented me."_

_Those words were seduction and he leaned forward to kiss her deeply and with passion, leading her toward the bed. _

_When they reached its edge, he took his time in removing her bathrobe, letting his hands appreciate as much of her skin as his conscience would allow and let it pool around her ankles. A hand smoothed over her shoulder as his eyes headed from her neck to her feet, appreciating every bit of flesh in between. _

_Although he'd seen her before, the frenzy of their mating prevented him from truly appreciating her body. _

"_You're beautiful," he said to her._

_The woman was skinny, but had ample rounded curves. And her skin was tinged with green, as if ripe, in all the right places. Parting her mouth and legs, she panted for him and spread herself out on the bed._

"_Come to me," she said, tugging at his hand until he joined her._

When his head cleared, he realized he was in a bed he'd occupied before in Telana's guest room. A white comforter covered his naked form and T'Pol's. And though they'd had a liaison in the bathroom and one here, his body was more than willing to try it again. Try it again and again and again and again.

_Something is definitely wrong._

"What in the hell is happening to me?" he asked.

T'Pol's eyes slowly opened and she stroked his cheek. "I could feel your anger."

"Why did we decide to stay?"

"Logic dictates that in order to settle diplomacy—"

"Diplomacy?" he asked, irritated. "We just managed to piss off the nicest culture who'd ever agreed to talk to us because we couldn't keep our hands off each other."

T'Pol's lips flattened into a straight line, and he realized how rough his voice did sound. Blowing out a long, loud breath, he turned to her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

T'Pol nodded in understanding. "It is … unusual."

He decided to hold his tongue about her choice of words and she continued, eyes on his as if circumspect to his opinion.

"Unusual though it may be, perhaps the mission is salvageable. Ambassador Telana herself has indicated that her species sees mating as natural. They accept the act more readily than even your culture."

Archer shook his head, certain that rushing off to the bathroom to paw and grope each other wasn't really okay in any culture. And when they returned, the diplomats seemed eager to leave, as if offended. Revisiting his decision on staying, he thought about picking up his communicator and asking to get back to the ship via transporter when a knock interrupted his thoughts.

Embarrassed he was still in bed with his first officer, his face turned crimson and he pushed himself from their bed. Grabbing clothes and putting them on, waiting for T'Pol to do the same, he eventually answered the door with an apology on his lips.

When the door opened, he saw a man who seemed to be in his forties give a smile.

"You must be Captain Archer?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Dr. Jara Harev," he said. "Ambassador Telana asked me to come."

It was then that Archer looked at his chronometer and realized he'd spent nearly two hours with T'Pol in the guest room. Heaving another sigh, he nodded and waited for instruction.

"I know a little about other cultures, specifically Vulcans. I'd like to be of some assistance," said Dr. Harev.

Not seeing much choice in the matter, Jon led him in and decided to sit next to T'Pol on the bed. Wondering what a doctor from Betazoid would do -- ask questions, wave a scanner or provide sage counsel. Instead the man remained silent and still, watching the two as if studying them. After a few minutes of silence, Archer frowned and Harev spoke.

"And how long have you been having sex?" he asked.

"Pardon me?" asked Jon.

T'Pol's answer was more clinical. "Approximately nine days."

"Longer than the Vulcan mating ritual?" asked Harev.

T'Pol was silent and the doctor glanced at Archer and then nodded.

"Your ship's physician indicated you were in perfect health?" he asked. And before Jon could answer, he nodded. "And you've been taking something to impair your libido?"

Jon opened his mouth and the doctor interrupted again. "Can I see the dosage?"

T'Pol stood and retrieved a canister for him as the man looked it over, ran a scanner over it and then hummed in a low purr. It was clear the man wasn't drawing any new conclusions and Jon was about to thank him for his time when the doctor decided to take a new approach.

"What causes arousal?" he asked.

This wasn't a topic Jon was prepared to answer, and the doctor found himself waiting on T'Pol. The Vulcan raised an eyebrow and seemed to hold her tongue as well.

"I can't help you without knowing, Captain." And before Jon could respond, the doctor nodded. "Seeing her, good. You believe it's a physical reaction to T'Pol."

"Yes," he said, glad to finally get an answer out.

"This reaction ceased while on your ship though. Correct?" He continued. "Yes, I see. You believe your sexuality is tied to T'Pol on the planet then?"

"I've been attracted to her off planet, but essentially – yes, my –"

Dr. Harev waved a scanner over them and then jotted down a few notes on a PADD, shaking his head.

"This is certainly a mystery. I see reactions to allergens that would cause this behavior. Your vital statistic read normal apparently for your species. In fact, I see really nothing out of the ordinary."

Harev gave a sympathetic frown and so Jon decided to push the issue.

"Then what's wrong with us?"

"I don't know. But, I'd like to be notified the next time you feel the same symptoms. Perhaps I can collect some data."

Jon was about to disagree, when T'Pol stepped in. "Given our recent … antics, the doctor shouldn't have long to wait. Understanding the root cause to our ailment may even be helpful for your species when the contact the Betazoid next."

Her eyes, a hazel brown, shimmered in the sunlight now fading from view as it streamed into the window and Archer could only nod his head in approval. Despite how beautiful his first officer looked, he believed there was merit to what she said. And even though things had ended badly with the Betazoid diplomats, he had to believe maybe something could be recovered with the people. If they were sick, perhaps the diplomats would accept another meeting.

"Okay," said Archer.

Dr. Harev nodded and grinned. "Excellent. Telana has my information. I'd like to be contacted at the first moment of desire."

"First moment," said Jon, agreeing.

An odd grin made it across his face and he filed out of the room. Only a few minutes later Telana appeared at the open door to voice her dismay that they hadn't found out what was wrong. When Jon started to apologize to her, she stuck her hand out to intercept it.

"Don't worry. It sounds like Dr. Harev, an old friend of the family, will get you sorted out," said Telana.

_It's an embarrassing dilemma._

"Only to you, Captain," she said.

"The diplomats – Oron?" he asked.

"Well ….." Her face suddenly changed, red flushing to her cheeks. "It doesn't matter what they think. It's irrelevant."

Archer noticed it was the first time his hostess managed to seem genuinely angry and almost immediately he felt his face tinge crimson as well.

"What happened?" he asked.

"They are not ready to accept me back as an ambassador."

"Is it something we did?" asked T'Pol, her voice prickling with energy.

"No," said Telana. "No. If anything you have only strengthened my resolve to return to service."

Jon got the impression their foray in the bathroom had led to her dismissal and regret filled his stomach. Telana again shook her head.

She said, "None of that. You're not to blame. Now, there's dinner downstairs. I hope you can join me during it. You seem more … relaxed now."

Archer agreed and contacted his ship, indicating he'd be a little longer. When Trip asked whether everything with the Betazoids had been settled, Jon was quick to deflect the question and indicated only time would tell where things stood.

With the sound of several gongs, Telana's friend and servant began to dish up meals and the three ate, talking about what would happen tomorrow.

TBC


End file.
